• 


I 


SORB! 

Hi 


THE  LOST  DAUGHTEK; 


AND    OTHER 


BY 

MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ: 

AUTHOR  OF  "LINDA,"  "COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE,"  "RENA,"  "EOLINE/ 
"PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE,"   "LOVE  AFTER  MARRIAGE,"  ETC. 


Complete  in  one  large  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  price  One  Dollar  and  Twenty- 
Jive  cents  j  or  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  for  One  Dollar, 

BEAD  WHAT  SOME  OF  THE  LEADING  EDITORS  SAY  OF  IT: 

"The  story  is  an  exceedingly  touching  one  of  American  Domestic  life — 
a  story  of  wild  and  diseased  passions,  successfully  contrasted  with  purity 
and  gentleness  of  taste  and  aspect.  Mrs.  Hentz  is  one  of  our  most  dra- 
matic of  female  writers.  She  makes  a  story  as  felicitously  as  any  of  them 
— knows  the  secret  of  exciting  and  prolonging  the  interest,  and  of  bring- 
ing about  an  appropriate  d6nouement.  Her  characters  are  drawn  with 
spirit  and  freedom,  and  her  incidents  are  well  selected  for  their  illustra- 
tion."— Southern  Patriot. 

MRS.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ'S  OTHER  WORKS. 

T.  B.  Peterson  has  lust  published  a  new,  uniform  and  beautiful  edition  of 
the  works  of  Mrs.  Hentz,  printed  on  a  much  better  and  finer  paper,  and  in  far 
superior  and  better  style  to  what  they  have  ever  before  been  issued  in,  (all 
in  uniform  style  with  The  Lost  Daughter,)  copies  of  any  one  or  all  of  which 
will  be  sent  to  any  place  in  the  United  States,  free  of  postage,  on  receipt  of 
remittances.  Each  book  contains  a  beautiful  illustration  of  one  of  the  best 
scenes.  The  following  are  the  names  of  these  world-wide  celebrated  works  : 

EOLINE ;  or,  MAGNOLIA  YALE.  Complete  in  two 
volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar;  or  bound  in  one 
volume,  cloth,  gilt,  $1.25. 

"  We  do  not  think  that  amongst  American  authors,  there  is  one  more 
pleasing  or  more  instructive  than  Mrs.  Hentz.  This  novel  is  equal  to  any 
which  she  has  written." — Cincinnati  Gazette. 

"A  charming  and  delightful  story,  and  will  add  to  the  well-merited  re- 
putation of  its  fair  and  gifted  author." — Southern  Literary  Gazette. 

"  It  will  be  found  to  be  the  best  story  which  Mrs.  Hentz  has  ever  given 
to  the  public." — Saturday  Courier. 


ii  MRS.   HENTZ'S  WORKS. 

THE  BANISHED  SON;  and  othe7~STories. "Tfoinplefe" 
in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dol.,  or  bound  in 
one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1  25. 

"  The  'Banished  Son*  seems  to  us  the  chef  d'ceuvre  of  the  collection.  It 
appeals  to  all  the  nobler  sentiments  of  humanity,  is  full  of  action  and 
healthy  excitement,  and  sets  forth  the  best  of  morals." — Charleston  Neics. 

AUNT  PATTY'S  SCRAP  BAG,  together  with  large  ad- 
ditions  to  it,  written  by  Mrs.  Hentz,  prior  to  her  death, 
and  never  before  published  in  any  former  edition  of  this 
work.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One 
Dol.,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25 

"We  venture  to  assert  that  there  is  not  one  reader  who  has  not  been 
made  wiser  and  better  by  its  perusal — who  has  not  been  enabled  to  treasure 
up  golden  precepts  of  morality,  virtue,  and  experience,  as  guiding  princi- 
ples of  their  own  commerce  with  the  world." — American  Courier. 

LOVE  AFTER,  MARRIAGE ;  and  other  Stories.  Com- 
plete in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  priceOne  Dol.,  or  bound 
in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"  This  is  a  charming  and  instructive  story — one  of  those  beautiful  efforts 
that  enchant  the  mind,  refreshing  and  strengthening  it." — City  Item. 
"  The  work  before  us  is  a  charming  one." — Boston  Evening  Journal. 

MARCUS  WARLAND;  or,  THE  LONG  MOSS 
SPRING.  A  Tale  of  the  South.  Complete  in  two  vo- 
lumes, paper  cover,  price  One  Dol.,  or  bound  in  one  volume, 
cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"  Every  succeeding  chapter  of  this  new  and  beautiful  nouvellette  of  Mrs. 
Ilentz  increases  in  interest  and  pathos.  We  defy  any  one  to  read  aloud 
the  chapters  to  a  listening  auditory,  without  deep  emotion,  or  producing 
many  a  pearly  tribute  to  its  truthfulness,  pathos,  and  power." — Am.  Courier. 

"It  is  pleasant  to  meet  now  and  then  with  a  tale  like  this,  which  seema 
rather  like  a  narrative  of  real  events  than  a  creature  of  the  imagination." 
— N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE;  or,  THE  JOYS 
AND  SORROWS  OF  AMERICAN  LIFE.  With  a 
Portrait  of  the  Author.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes, 
paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  one  volume, 
cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"  This  work  will  be  found,  on  perusal  by  all,  to  be  one  of  the  most  exciting, 
interesting,  and  popular  works  that  has  ever  emanated  from  the  American 
Press.  It  is  written  in  a  charming  style,  and  will  elicit  through  all  a 
thrill  of  deep  and  exquisite  pleasure.  It  is  a  work  which  the  oldest  and 
the  youngest  may  alike  read  with  profit.  It  abounds  with  the  most  beauti- 
ful scenic  descriptions  j  and  displays  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  all 


MRS.  HENTZ?S  WORKS.  Hi 

phases  of  hr/man  character;  all  the  characters  being  exceedingly  "well 
drawn.  It  is  a  delightful  book,  full  of  incidents,  oftentimes  bold  and 
startling,  and  describes  the  warm  feelings  of  the  Southerner  in  glowing 
colors.  Indeed,  all  Mrs.  Hentz's  stories  aptly  describe  Southern  life,  and 
are  highly  moral  in  their  application.  In  this  field  Mrs.  Hentz  wields  a 
keen  sickle,  and  harvests  a  rich  and  abundant  crop.  It  will  be  found  in 
plot,  incident,  and  management,  to  be  a  superior  work.  In  the  whole 
range  of  elegant  moral  fiction,  there  cannot  be  found  any  thing  of  more 
inestimable  value,  or  superior  to  this  work,  and  it  is  a  gem  that  will  well 
repay  a  careful  perusal.  The  Publisher  feels  assured  that  it  will  ghre 
entire  satisfaction  to  all  readers,  encourage  good  taste  and  good  morals, 
and  while  away  many  leisure  hours  with  great  pleasure  and  profit,  and  be 
recommended  to  others  by  all  that  peruse  it." 

LINDA.  THE  YOUNG  PILOT  OP  THE  BELLE 
CREOLE.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price 
OneDol.,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"We  hail  with  pleasure  this  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the  South. 
Works  containing  faithful  delineations  of  Southern  life,  society,  and 
scenery,  whether  in  the  garb  of  romance  or  in  the  soberer  attire  of  simple 
narrative,  cannot  fail  to  have  a  salutary  influence  in  correcting  the  false 
impressions  which  prevail  in  regard  to  our  people  and  institutions  ;  and 
our  thanks  are  due  to  Mrs.  Hentz  for  the  addition  she  has  made  to  this  de- 
partment of  our  native  literature.  We  cannot  close  without  expressing  a 
hope  that  'Linda'  may  be  followed  by  many  other  works  of  the  same  class 
from  the  pen  of  its  gifted  author." — Southern  Literary  Gazette. 

ROBERT  GRAHAM.  The  Sequel  to,  and  continuation 
of  Linda.  Complete  in  two  large  volumes,  paper  cover, 
price  One  Dol.,  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"  We  cannot  admire  too  much,  nor  thank  Mrs.  Hentz  too  sincerely  for 
the  high  and  ennobling  morality  and  Christian  grace,  which  not  only  per- 
vade her  entire  writings,  but  which  shine  forth  with  undimmed  beauty  in 
the  new  novel,  Robert  Graham.  It  sustains  the  character  which  is  very 
difficult  to  well  delineate  in  a  work  of  fiction — a  religious  missionary.  All 
who  read  the  work  will  bear  testimony  to  the  entire  success  of  Mrs.  Hentz." 
— Boston  Transcript. 

"A  charming  novel;  and  in  point  of  plot,  style,  and  all  the  other  char- 
acteristics of  a  readable  romance,  it  will  compare  favorably  with  almost 
any  of  the  many  publications  of  the  season." — Literary  Gazette. 

THE  PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE.  With  illus- 
trations. Complete  in  two  large  volumes,  paper  cover, 
COO  pages,  price  One  Dollar,  or  bound  in  one  volume, 
cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"Wo  have  seldom  been  more  charmed  by  the  perusal  of  a  novel;  and  we 
desire  to  commend  it  to  our  readers  in  the  strongest  words  of  praise  that 
our  vocabulary  affords.  The  incidents  are  well  varied;  the  scenes  beauti- 
fully described;  and  the  interest  admirably  kept  up.  But  the  moral  of  the 
book  is  its  highest  merit.  The  'Planter's  Northern  Brido'  should  be  as 


iv  MRS.  HENTZ'S  WOKKS. 

welcomo  as  the  dove  of  peace  to  every  fireside  in  the  Union.  It  cannot  be 
read  without  a  moistening  of  the  eyes,  a  softening  of  the  heart,  and  a  miti- 
gation of  sectional  and  most  unchristian  prejudices." — N.  Y.  Mirror. 

"It  is  unquestionably  the  most  powerful  and  important,  if  not  the  most 
charming  work  that  ha,s  yet  flowed  from  her  elegant  pen ;  and  though  evi- 
dently founded  upon  the  all-absorbing  subjects  of  slavery  and  abolitionism, 
the  genius  and  skill  of  the  fair  author  have  developed  new  views  of  golden 
argument,  and  flung  around  the  whole  such  a  halo  of  pathos,  interest,  and 
beauty,  as  to  render  it  every  way  worthy  the  author  of  'Linda/  'Marcus 
Warland/  'Rena,'  and  the  numerous  other  literary  gems  from  the  same 
author." — American  Courier. 

"  The  most  delightful  and  remarkable  book  of  the  day."— Boston  Traveler. 

"Written  with  remarkable  vigor,  and  contains  many  passages  of  real 
eloquence.  We  heartily  commend  it  to  general  perusal." — Newark  Eagle. 

RENA  ;  or,  THE  SNOW  BIRD.  A  Tale  of  Real  Life. 
Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dol.,  or 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"'Rena;  or,  the  Snow  Bird'  elicits  a  thrill  of  deep  and  exquisite  pleasure, 
even  exceeding  that  which  accompanied  'Linda,'  which  was  generally  ad- 
mitted to  be  the  best  story  ever  written  for  a  newspaper.  That  was  certainly 
high  praise,  but  'Rena'  takes  precedence  even  of  its  predecessor,  and,  in 
both,  Mrs.  Lee  Hentz  has  achieved  a  triumph  of  no  ordinary  kind.  It  is  not 
that  old  associations  bias  our  judgment,  for  though  from  the  appearance, 
years  since,  of  the  famous  'Mob  Cap'  in  this  paper,  we  formed  an  exalted 
opinion  of  the  womanly  and  literary  .excellence  of  the  writer,  our  feelings 
have,  in  the  interim,  had  quite  sufficient  leisure  to  cool ;  yet,  after  the 
lapse  of  years,  we  have  continued  to  maintain  tbe  same  literary  devotion 
to  this  best  of  our  female  writers.  The  two  last  productions  of  Mrs.  Lee 
Hentz  now  fully  confirm  our  previously  formed  opinion,  and  we  unhesi- 
tatingly commend  'Rena,'  now  published  in  book  form,  in  beautiful  style, 
by  T.  B.  Peterson,  as  a  story  which,  in  its  varied,  deep,  and  thrilling  in- 
terest, has  no  superior." — American  Courier. 

HELEN  AND  ARTHUR.  Complete  in  two  volumes, 
paper  cover,  price  One  Dol.,  or  bound  in  one  volume, 
cloth  gilt,  $1.25. 

"A  story  of  domestic  life,  written  in  Mrs.  Hentz's  best  vein.  The  de- 
tails of  the  plot  are  skilfully  elaborated,  and  many  passages  are  deeply 
pathetic." — Commercial  Advertiser. 

•  "As  a  high-toned  novel  it  possesses  throughout  a  most  touching  and 
thrilling  interest,  far  above  the  level  of  the  novels  of  the  day.  All  are  de- 
lighted who  read  it." — Courier. 

_^f*  Copies  of  either  edition  of  any  of  the  foregoing  works  will  be  sent 
to  any  person,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  free  of  postage,  on  their 
remitting  the  price  of  the  ones  they  may  wish,  to  the  publisher,  in  a  letter. 

Published  and  for  Sale  by  T.  B.  PETERSON, 

No.  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 


-  .-/^ 


T  II  K 


PLANTER'S    DAUGHTER, 


ialt  of  f  juisisna. 


"Beauty  gives 

The  features  perfect  ness,  and  to  the  form 
Its  delicate  proportions:  she  may  stain 
The  eye  with  a  celestial  blue — the  cheek 
With  carmine  of  the  sunset ;  she  may  breathe 
Grace  into  every  motion,  like  the  play 
Of  the  least  visible  tissue  of  a  cloud : 
She  may  give  alt  that  is  within  her  own 
Bright  cestus — and  one  glance  of  intellect, 
Like  stronger  magic,  will  outshine  it  aJL"—WtU1a. 


T.    B.    PETERSON    AND    BROTHERS, 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1858,  by 
T.    B.    PETEHSON    &    BKOTHEKS, 

111  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


<to 


IUs.   $o  S.  S  Up  fet 

C^c    /cllotoing   pages 
instribeb  foitj]  ^ffectrouaie 


M17343! 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  autumn  sun  lay  on  the  long  stretches  of  level  green- 
sward, possessing  a  beauty  of  its  own  which  the  dwellers 
among  mountain  scenery  will  scarcely  be  willing  to  concede  ; 
yet  if  one  of  these  had  seen  the  vivid  green  of  the  earth,  the 
varied  hues  of  the  foliage,  together  with  the  lucid  southern 
atmosphere  filled  with  the  golden  haze  of  a  brilliant  sunset, 
the  beholder  must  have  admitted  that  the  great  Father  of  all 
has  not  forgotten  to  shower  beauties  peculiar  to  each  portion 
of  his  wide-spread  domain. 

Fields  of  luxurious  cane  stretched  away  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  The  sugar-house,  built  of  brick,  and  looking 
like  a  huge  castle,  stood  far  back  from  the  river,  while  the 
planter's  dwelling  was  placed  directly  in  front  of  a  sweeping 
bend  in  the  mighty  Father  of  Waters,  but  sufficiently  distant 
to  afford  a  wide  road  between  the  lawn  that  lay  in  front  of  it, 
and  the  verdant  levee  wrhich  here  rose  to  the  height  of  thirty 
feet  above  the  land  around  it,  and  also  a  wide  lawn,  on  which 
groups  of  the  beautiful  water  oak  made  a  pleasant  shade. 

One  of  these  trees  was  a  patriarch  among  its  kind,  and 
centuries  must  have  elapsed  since  it  first  grew,  a  tiny  bud, 
from  the  fruitful  soil  which  gave  to  it  such  luxuriant  develop- 
ment. Three  immense  stems  sprang  from  a  single  root,  and 


8  THE     PLANTERS     DAUGHTER. 

were  twisted  curiously  together,  as  if  a  child  in  sport  had 
twined  the  tender  saplings  in  their  infancy,  and  they  had 
taken  the  form  thus  given  them.  Each  shoot  had  now  grown 
into  an  immense  tree  of  itself,  and  spreading  out  laterally, 
cast  its  protecting  shadow  over  a  space  which  would  have 
measured  more  than  half  an  acre  in  extent.  Many  of  the 
limbs  curved  upward,  and  in  several  of  the  most  romantic 
situations,  seats  had  been  placed  which  were  easily  reached 
.from  the  ground,  even  by  one  unaccustomed  to  climbing. 

This  tree  stood  at  the  end  of  an  old-fashioned  French  house, 
two  stories  high,  with  a  pointed  roof  in  the  centre,  from  which 
rose  a  stack  of  chimnies.  A  wing  of  more  modern  construc- 
tion had  been  added  on  each  side,  rendering  the  mansion 
large  and  convenient,  though  externally  by  no  means  a  model 
of  architectural  elegance.  Wide  galleries,  supported  by  mass- 
ive pillars,  surrounded  it,  and  there  was  an  air  of  substantial 
comfort  about  it,  which  seemed  to  indicate  the  character  of 
its  hospitality. 

On  the  side  opposite  the  patriarchal  tree,  was  an  inclosure, 
of  considerable  size,  filled  with  fine  shrubbery,  and  many 
beautiful  flowers  yet  bloomed  there. 

Surely  this  should  be  the  home  of  contentment,  peace,  and 
love.  Its  fair  outward  seeming  should  be  but  a  type  of  its 
inward  loveliness.  It  is  difficult  to  look  on  a  beautifully  em- 
bellished home,  and  not  believe  it  to  be  tenanted  by  spirits  at 
peace  with  themselves,  and  contented  with  the  lot  awarded 
them  on  earth. 

Yet  such  is  unhappily  far  from  always  being  the  case :  the 
curse  of  our  fallen  nature,  discontent,  comes  everywhere ;  and 


is  oftenest  found  among  those  who  toil  not  for  their  daily/ 
bread.  The  same  feeling  which  caused  Alexander  to  weepv 
that  there  were  no  more  worlds  to  lavish  his  superabundant 
energies  in  conquering,  often  causes  his  humbler  brother, 
amid  the  quiet  abundance  of  a  lot  which  seems  stripped  of 
every  care,  to  repine  for  the  excitement  of  which  his  nature 
feels  the  need,  and  he  will  often  seek  it  in  sources  ruinous 
alike  to  health  and  fortune. 

The  windows  facing  the  front  gallery  all  opened  to  the 
floor,  and  as  the  evening  sun  declined  toward  the  horizon,  the 
green  blinds  protecting  one  of  these  were  unclosed,  and  the 
master  of  the  mansion,  a  healthy,  florid  man  of  fifty,  stepped 
from  it.  Jt  is  a  frank,  handsome  face,  on  which  the  evening 
light  glances,  yet  in  the  dark  blue  eye,  and  the  closing  of  the 
well  cut  lips,  a  daring  spirit,  and  a  strong  will,  are  legibly 
impressed. 

Life  had  evidently  gone  well  with  Mr.  Harrington,  though 
one  bitter  sorrow  had  prematurely  whitened  the  hair,  which, 
at  fifty,  lay  in  silver  waves  above  his  brow,  scarcely  threaded 
by  a  line  of  black ;  yet  his  cheek  glowed  with  health,  and  the 
bland  expression  of  his  inouth  when  engaged  in  conversation, 
proved  that  ill-temper  and  repining  claimed  no  share  in 
bleaching  the  dark  locks,  amid  which  the  fingers  of  her  he 
Lad  loved  as  man  seldom  loves,  had  so  often  strayed. 

They,  alas !  were  dust,  and  a  few  weeks  of  suffering  from 
this  great  bereavement,  sufficed  to  silver  the  hair  over  which 
but  thirty  summers  had  then  shone.   Since  that  great  anguish, . 
a  wide  gulf  of  twenty  years  had  grown  up,  but  as  it  regarded 
the  memory  of  his  lost  Adele,  it  was  to  him  as  a  single  day. 

1* 


10 

The  bitterness  of  early  bereavement  was  gone,  but  in  his  deep 
heart  he  cherished  the  beloved  image,  and  daily  she  stood  be- 
fore his  imagination  in  all  the  young  beauty  which  had  been 
so  soon  snatched  from  him. 

r 

No  other  woman  had  ever  touched  his  heart,  and  no  step- 
mother came  to  his  home  to  rule  over  his  children.  A  son 
and  two  daughters  had  grown  to  maturity  beneath  the  indul- 
gent care  of  their  father,  and  the  almost  maternal  love  of  his 
only  sister,  a  maiden  lady  but  few  years  younger  than  Mr. 
Harrington  himself. 

The  practical  good  sense,  and  even  temper  of  Miss  Ger- 
trude Harrington,  had  enabled  her  to  supply  the  place  of  the 
mother  they  had  lost,  and  the  children  grew  beneath  her  fos- 
tering care,  without  cause  to  feel  a  regret  for  the  parent  who 
had  been  taken  from  them  before  they  were  old  enough  to 
feel  the  calamity. 

The  son,  Victor,  was  now  a  young  man  of  twenty-three, 
and  the  twin  daughters  had  just  completed  their  twentieth 
year — quite  a  mature  age  for  unmarried  ladies  in  Louisiana ; 
but  Miss  Harrington  had  impressed  her  own  ideas  on  the 
subject  of  marriage  on  her  nieces,  and  they  both  seemed  de- 
cidedly of  the  opinion  that  unless  they  were  irrevocably  in 
love,  they  had  better  remain  in  their  happy  home,  the  dar- 
lings of  their  beloved  father,  and  their  adopted  mother. 

As  the  twins  were  fastidious,  and  much  more  highly  culti- 
vated than  is  common  among  their  sex  in  their  native  State, 
they  were  not  likely  to  rush  into  matrimony  from  the  vulgar 
fear  that  the  epithet  of  old  maid  might  be  applied  to  them. 
They  loved  and  valued  one  of  that  class,  and  after  all,  there 


11 

was  nothing  so  terrible  in  living  as  Aunt  Gertrude  had  lived. 
She  was  happy,  and  useful,  and  made  a  noble  use  of  the  great 
boon  of  life;  why  then  should  they  deprecate  the  fate  which 
she  had  preferred  to  a  wretched  lot  with  the  lost  and  unhappy 
being  it  had  been  her  misfortune  to  love  in  her  girlhood ;  for 
the  fair  and  placid  Miss  Harrington  had  loved  with  a  truth  and 
fervor  of  which  half  the  wedded  dames  are  utterly  incapable. 

The  memory  of  this  love  kept  her  single  many  years; 
then  the  death  of  her  brother's  wife,  and  the  helplessness  of 
the  infant  children  thus  bereaved,  gave  her  a  home  and 
a  position  she  was  peculiarly  qualified  to  fill.  During  all 
these  long  years,  suitors  had  not  been  wanting,  for  she  was 
still  fair  and  attractive,  but  none  of  them  came  so  near  her 
heart  as  the  little  beings  who  clung  to  her  with  the  fondest 
affection,  and  their  suit  was  accordingly  denied. 

As  Mr.  Harrington  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and 
looked  out  upon  the  long  sweep  of  gleaming  water,  as  if  in 
expectation  of  the  appearance  of  a  boat  on  its  smooth  surface, 
another  window  quietly  opened,  and  from  it  came  forth  a 
stately  matronly  figure  rather  above  the  medium  height,  clad 
in  a  dark  gray  silk  made  to  cover  the  throat  and  the  arms 
down  to  the  slender  and  well  formed  hands.  A  small  em- 
broidered collar  fastened  with  a  cameo  pin,  and  a  cap  of  fine 
lace,  very  becomingly  arranged,  completed  her  costume. 

Dark  silky-looking  hair  lay  in  smooth  bands  above  a  broad 
and  lineless  brow,  on  which  candor  and  sincerity  were 
stamped.  Her  eyes,  like  those  of  her  brother,  were  of  a  deep 
violet  blue,  but  they  often  assumed  a  darker  hue  in  moments 
of  excited  feeling ;  there  was  good  humor  and  benevolence  in 


12 

their  genial  sparkle,  and  upon  the  well-shaped  mouth,  the 
same  characteristics  were  impressed.  It  was  a  face  one  could 
trust,  for  the  least  observant  intuitively  felt  that  neither  de- 
ceit nor  guile  were  concealed  beneath  that  attractive  smile 
and  winning  address. 

She  approached  Mr.  Harrington,  and  placed  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  before  he  was  aware  of  her  presence. 

"For  whom  are  you  watching  with  such  keen  interest, 
brother?"  asked  a  clear,  sweet-toned  voice.  "Three  times 
within  the  last  hour,  I  have  seen  you  scan  the  river,  as  if  in 
eager  expectation  of  an  arrival." 

Mr.  Harrington  seemed  slightly  annoyed  at  this  inquiry, 
but  he  replied  with  great  good  humor, 

"Why,  Gertrude,  it  is  packet-day,  and  I  am  expecting 
quite  a  supply  of  comestibles  for  our  birth-day  party." 

"You  are  not  usually  so  anxious  about  such  things, 
brother,  as  to  become  restless  for  the  arrival  of  the  packet. 
Is  that  all  you  are  expecting?"  asked  the  lady,  raising  her 
penetrating  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  Pooh !  why  should  you  question  one  so  ?  Who  or  what 
should  I  expect,  pray  ?" 

"  A  letter  from  that  daring  speculator,  Mr.  Malcolm,  or  per- 
haps his  own  visible  presence,"  she  quietly  replied. 

Mr.  Harrington  started,  and  his  face  flushed,  but  before  he 
could  reply,  his  sister  went  on  with  a  persuasive  earnestness 
of  manner  which  should  have  produced  a  greater  effect: 
/•"^  Brother,  beware  of  that  man.  He  tempts  you  to  what 
may  end  in  ruin,  instead  of  increasing  your  present  posses- 
sions. He  is  reckless,  and,  I  am  afraid,  unprincipled.  As  a 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  13 

capitalist,  he  probably  seeks  you  ;  but  after  he  has  fairly  ob- 
tained the  control  of  your  means,  I  am  sadly  afraid  he  may  be 
unscrupulous  in  the  use  pf  them.  Under  any  circumstances, 
they  will  be  used  to  his  own  advantage,  whatever  the  result 
may  be  to  you." 

"  I  have  heard  you  patiently,  Gertrude,  because  I  generally 
have  great  respect  for  your  judgment ;  but  in  this  matter  I 
hold  my  own  to  be  superior  to  it.  You  speak  very  harshly 
of  a  most  honorable  gentleman.  Every  security  has  been  of- 
fered me  by  Malcolm,  that  the  most  exacting  could  demand. 
I  am  quite  satisfied  of  his  power  to  fulfill  every  pledge  he  has 
given." 

"Yet  why,  my  dear  Charles,  should  you  at  your  age 
plunge  into  speculations  that  must  unsettle  your  quiet  life, 
and  render  you  a  victim  to  constant  fears  as  to  the  result? 
You  were,  in  your  early  manhood,  so  fortunate  as  to  accumu- 
late wealth :  why  then  will  you  disturb  your  declining  years 
with  such  uncertain  things  as  speculations  2" 

"  It  is  true,  Gertrude,  I  was  fortunate  in  my  youth,  and  by 
my  own  energy  and  daring  gained  what  I  now  possess.  It  is 
a  good  fortune  for  one  man,  but  an  indifferent  portion  when 
divided  among  five." 

"  Wherefore  shall  it  be  thus  divided  3" 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  My  son  is  now  old 
enough  to  desire  -an  establishment  of  his  own ;  and  his  ap- 
proaching uni<5a  with  his.  cousin  renders  it  desirable  that  I 
should  give  him  a  plantation.  This  I  can  not  at  present  af- 
ford, for  I  can  not  bear  the  thought  of  aba'iug  my  usual 
style  of  hospitality,  and  my  whole  income  barely  suffices  to 


14 

maintain  it.  My  daughters  will  marry  ;  whence  shall  come 
portions  for  them  suited  to  the  style  in  which  they  have  been 
reared,  if  I  do  not  enter  the  arena  anew  ?  My  pride  is  greatly 
concerned  in  all  this,  and  I  am  willing  to  risk  something  for 
their  future  good." 

"  Ah,  poor  and  false  pride !"  murmured  Miss  Harrington. 
"  I  trust  in  God  it  may  not  be  too  severely  punished."  She 
then  asked, 

"  If  your  income  is  annually  spent,  how  is  the  money  for 
the  proposed  speculations  to  be  raised  ?" 

"  0,  that  is  easy  enough  to  a  man  possessed  of  my  property. 
There  is  absolutely  no  risk  of  failure,  and  I  shall  raise  what  I 
need  by  mortgaging  my  crops  for  a  few  years  to  come.  Do 
not  annoy  me  with  your  croaking,  Gertrude,  for  I  have  gone 
too  far  to  recede,  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  expecting 
Malcolm  on  the  packet  this  evening." 

"I  feared  as  much,"  replied  Miss  Harrington,  sighing 
deeply.  "Since  it  is  too  late  for  remonstrance,  brother,  I 
will  refrain  from  it ;  but  do  you  know  that  this  Mr.  Malcolm 
aspires  to  the  hand  of  one  of  your  daughters?" 

An  emotion  of  displeased  surprise  gleamed  athwart  the 
features  of  Mr.  Harrington,  but  it  was  immediately  checked, 
and,  after  a  brief  pause,  he  replied : 

"It  is  well.  I  have  pronounced  him  an  honorable  man, 
and  I  truly  believe  him  to  be  such.  If  my  child  accepts  his 
suit,  I  shall  not  cross  her  wishes." 

'*  If  Adele  is  as  easily  won  over  as  you  are,  I  suppose  we 
may  have  a  bridal  before  long,"  said  Miss  Harrington, 
coldly. 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  15 

"  Adelc ;  no,  no  1"  exclaimed  the  father,  almost  passion- 
ately. "  I  thought  he  most  admired  Pauline.  Adele  is  my 
own,  own  darling.  Malcolm  is  fond  of  travel ;  he  would  sel- 
dom remain  stationary,  and  his  wife  must  be  the  companion 
of  his  wanderings.  I  could  struggle  with  my  own  regrets, 
and  bear  to  be  parted  from  the  child  that  most  resembles 
myself;  but  Adele — no,  no,  she  is  like  the  angel  in  heaven  ; 
her  voice  speaks  to  me  in  the  music  that  charmed  my  youth. 
O,  I  can  never  suffer  Adele  to  leave  me.  Her  husband  must  : 
be  to  me  in  all  respects  as  a  son.  Malcolm  must  look  else-  \ 
where  for  a  bride." 

"  Then  beware  how  you  place  yourself  in  his  power,"  was 
the  impressive  response.  "  He  will  use  it  ungenerously,  even 
if  his  principles  should  prove  sound.  But  there  is  the  boat, 
and  I  will  no  longer  trouble  you  with  my  doubts  and  fears." 

Where  the  glowing  sunset  was  mirrored  in  the  rippling 
water,  a  dark  object,  puffing  forth  dense  volumes  of  black 
smoke,  and  gallantly  breasting  the  current,  was  seen  ap- 
proaching, and  soon  the  deep  boom  of  the  escape-pipe  rang 
through  the  air  its  shrill  warning  of  the  approach  of  a  fine 
steamer. 

As  she  came  up  to  the  landing,  which  was  not  more  than 
thirty  yards  above  the  mansion,  her  guards  were  crowded 
with  passengers,  and  among  them  was  one  conspicuous  from 
his  commanding  height,  standing  on  the  bow,  waving  a  hand- 
kerchief to  the  group  on  the  piazza,  now  increased  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  daughters  of  the  house,  who  are  of  too  much 
importance  to  our  story  to  be  introduced  at  the  end  of  a 
chapter. 


CHAPTER    II. 

ENTIRELY  unlike  were  the  twin  sisters.  Pauline  was  tall, 
fair,  and  blue-eyed,  with  a  profusion  of  soft  brown  hair  worn 
in  plain  bands  above  her  well-formed  brow.  Alone,  she  would 
perhaps  have  been  pronounced  handsome  by  many,  for  there 
was  much  to  attract  in  the  sweet  expression  of  her  face,  and 
the  winning  grace  of  her  manner.  But  brought  perpetually 
in  contrast  with  her  sister,  few  thought  of  her  except  as  a 
clever  and  rather  good-looking  girl. 

Adele  was  one  of  those  rare  women  who  are  invested  at 
their  birth  with  the  cestus  of  Venus,  and  to  the  last  hour  of 
a  lengthened  life  must  still  be  attractive :  she  was  piquant, 
graceful,  elegant,  and  always  fascinating.  Her  form  was  so 
perfectly  proportioned,  that  no  awkward  movement  could 
mar  its  attractiveness,  and  her  features  were  of  equal  sym- 
metry. Large,  dark,  glancing  eyes,  exquisite  in  their  shape 
and  expression,  were  vailed  by  lashes  of  the  raven  hue  of  her 
tresses,  which  had  often  aroused  the  poetic  fervor  of  her  ad- 
mirers, and  no  wonder,  for  they  were  beautiful  in  texture, 
and  of  such  length  and  abundance,  that  it  required  much 
skill  to  coil  them  around  the  gracefully-molded  head,  so  as 
not  to  spoil  its  fair  proportions.  When  let  down,  this  magni- 
ficent cbevelure  reached  the  floor  as  she  stood,  and  lay  in 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  17 

rings  around  her  feet.     Hands  and  arms  of  sculptured  beauty  ) 
completed  the  picture,  and  no  poet  could  have  dreamed  of  a/ 
fairer  ideal  than  the  living,  breathing  form  of  Adele  Harring-l 
ton. 

It  is  very  rare  to  see  a  perfectly  beautiful  woman,  but  she 
was  undoubtedly  that  rara  avis  ;  and  the  fame  of  her  charms 
was  widely  spread.  During  an  extensive  northern  tour,  she 
had  reigned  the  undisputed  belle  wherever  she  appeared ;  and 
many  were  the  suitors  who  came  to  her  home,  seeking  to 
touch  the  heart  which  never  yet  had  felt  the  bewildering 
power  of  love. 

Adele  knew  that  she  was  beautiful ;  but  so  judicious  was 
the  training  she  had  received,  that  she  also  knew  she  must 
be  much  more  than  that,  if  she  wished  to  retain  her  hold  on 
the  heart  her  loveliness  impressed.  The  sisters  were  conscien- 
tious, truthful,  and  God-fearing  beings,  and  withal  deeply  at- 
tached to  each  other.  Pauline,  as  much  fascinated  by  her 
sister's  attractions  as  any  who  approached  her,  felt  no  con- 
cealed jealousy  of  that  peerless  loveliness  which  so  completely 
eclipsed  her  humbler  charms,  and  Adele  returned  her  affec- 
tion with  a  truth  and  sincerity  which  proved  that  adulation 
had  not  weakened  the  native  warmth  of  her  feelings,  nor 
rendered  her  insensible  to  the  hallowed  tenderness  of  home 
affections;  that  holy. halo  which  encircled  her  life,  and  gave 
the  brightest  sunshine  she  had  yet  known  to  the  thornless 
path  she  had  heretofore  walked  in. 

The  sisters  were  dressed  alike  in  delicately -tinted  silk, 
trimmed  at  the  throat  and  wrists  with  fine  lace ;  a  knot  of 
gay  ribbon,  on  which  glittered  a  magnificent  diamond  pin, 


18 

was  worn  upon  the  breast ;  and  a  ring  of  corresponding  ele- 
gance adorned  each  fair  hand.  A  chain  so  fine  as  to  seem 
like  a  thread  of  gold,  supported  a  small  enameled  watch  at 
one  side. 

Mr.  Harrington  was  proud  of  his  fair  daughters,  and  he 
liked  to  see  them  always  elegantly  attired.  The  finest  Paris- 
ian robes  were  ordered  for  them,  from  the  most  tasteful  milli- 
ners in  that  emporium  of  fashion,  and  no  expense  was  spared 
in  gratifying  the  most  fastidious  fancy  either  one  might  have. 
Their  father's  liberality  was  boundless,  for  he  had  accumu- 
lated wealth  so  easily,  that  he  dispensed  it  with  a  lavish 
hand. 

Mr.  Harrington  had  emigrated  from  Virginia  in  his  youth, 
when  fortunes  were  more  easily  won  in  the  south-west  than 
now.  A  fortunate  investment  of  his  small  capital  afforded 
him  the  means  of  speculating  in  land  at  a  period  of  great 
depression,  when  he  felt  assured  that  the  pressure  must  soon 
be  removed.  His  convictions  proved  correct,  and  a  rapid 
fortune  was  accumulated.  He  purchased  the  plantation  on 
which  he  then  resided ;  married  the  daughter  of  a  French 
gentleman  in  the  vicinity,  of  whom  he  had  become  violently 
enamored,  regardless  that  her  only  dower  was  her  great 
beauty,  and  a  gentleness  of  temper  which  rendered  her  inex- 
pressibly dear  to  him. 

Then  commenced  a  style  of  princely  hospitality,  such  as 
has  ruined  nearly  all  the  old  families  in  his  native  State.  To 
do  him  justice,  Mr.  Harrington  endeavored  to  keep  within  the 
bounds  of  his  income ;  but  few  men  of  lavish  habits  of  ex- 
penditure can  easily  do  this,  and  he  least  of  all.  He  was  an 


19 

indulgent  and  considerate  master,  and  often  his  crops  fell 
short,  though  little  sickness  or  mortality  was  ever  found  on 
the  Wavertree  plantation. 

From  year  to  year  these  deficiencies  increased,  while  the 
sanguine  spirit  of  the  ease-loving  owner  induced  him  to  hope 
that  a  rise  in  sugar,  or  some  other  lucky  chance,  would  ena- 
ble him  to  clear  himself  of  the  debt  which  had  thus  gradually 
accumulated.  Mr.  Harrington  gave  himself  little  real  con- 
cern about  it,  for  he  was  not  of  a  disposition  to  anticipate 
trouble,  and  but  one  calamity  had  ever  possessed  the  power 
to  cast  a  shade  over  his  hitherto  fortunate  destiny.  The 
death  of  his  adored  wife  in  the  fifth  year  of  their  union, 
caused  him  for  a  season  to  give  up  society ;  but  the  arrival  of 
his  sister  to  preside  over  his  household,  seemed  to  arouse  his 
love  of  social  life. 

Again  he  assembled  his  friends  around  him,  and  year  after 
year  glided  away  in  the  same  round  of  hospitality,  until  his 
children  were  of  an  age  to  settle  in  life.  Then,  he  felt  many 
emotions  of  regret  that  he  had  not  set  aside  a  certain  portion 
of  his  annual  income  to  accumulate  for  them  ;  but  these 
regrets  were  speedily  chased  away  by  the  recollection  of  his 
early  good  fortune.  He  would  again  undertake  the  same 
game,  on  a  larger  scale,  and  with  gains  proportionately  in- 
creased, be  able  to  provide  magnificently  for  those  dependent 
upon  him. 

At  this  crisis,  Mr.  Harrington  encountered  a  man  who 
seemed  to  him  to  be  sont  to  him  by  an  especial  interposition 
of  Providence. 

Mr.  Malcolm  was  an  acute  man  of  business ;  practical,  keen- 


20 

sighted,  and  an  accurate  reader  of  character.  He  was  the 
reputed  possessor  of  wealth  accumulated  by  his  own  skill  and 
energy,  and  withal  he  possessed  the  polished  ease  and  address 
of  an  educated  man. 

With  rare  command  of  language,  Malcolm  communicated 
his  plans  to  his  eager  listener,  and  impressed  him  with  the 
firm  conviction  that  the  speculations  undertaken  by  him,  must 
be  successful.  He  revealed  just  enough  of  his  proposed  enter- 
prises to  arouse  the  desire  for  gain  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Ilar- 
nngton,  and  impress  him  with  a  belief  in  his  vast  resources, 
both  of  intellect  and  means ;  and  then  left  the  poison  to  work 
its  legitimate  result. 

As  he  had  foreseen,~that  gentleman  was  soon  joined  with 
him  in  operations  which  required  all  the  credit  both  could 
command  ;  but  this  was  only  the  first  step  in  the  subtle  game 
which  Malcolm  was  playing.  A  gambler  on  a  magnificent 
scale  he  certainly  was,  and  human  hopes  and  fears  were  the 
v  counters  in  the  game :  under  his  dexterous  management,  for- 
tunes changed  hands  with  magical  rapidity,  but  what  mat- 
tered it  to  him  if  homes  were  desecrated,  hearts  broken,  if 
his  own  ends  were  gained  ? 

Ruthless  as  Fate,  polished  as  adamant,  and  as  impassive, 
was  the  man  into  whose  power  the  ease-loving  and  honorable 
!  Mr.  Harrington  had  fallen. 

But  it  is  time  we  should  describe  him,  as  it  was  Malcolm 
himself  who  stood  on  the  bow  of  the  steamer,  and  wafted  his 
salutation  to  the  fair  sisters.  But  few  moments  elapsed  be- 
fore he  stood  beside  them,  greeting  the  group  with  a  degree 
of  animated  cordiality  which  rendered  him  a  great  favorite 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  21 

with  all  of  the  household  except  Miss  Harrington.     Her  pen- 
etration had  fathomed  the  hollowness  of  that  graceful  manner, ! 
and  she  felt  an  intuitive^ consciousness  that  he  was  yet  to  be-/ 
come  the  agent  of  evil  to  their  happy  family. 

Malcolm  was  a  handsome  man,  with  a  singular  and  pleas- 
ing blending  of  the  traits  of  a  Scotch  father  and   Spanish 
mother.     His  hair  was  of  a  pale  golden  brown,  with  eyes  of  a 
deep  hazel,  shaded  by  brows  and  lashes  so  dark  as  to  seem 
black  in  a  doubtful  light.     The  expressive  beauty  of  his  well- 
cut  profile  was  somewhat  marred  by  the  high  cheek-bones  he 
had  inherited  from  his  paternal  race,  but  his  smile  was  serene 
and  captivating,  and  he  could  throw  an  expression  of  softness 
in  his  darkly  beautiful  eyes  which  had  beguiled  the  trusting- 
heart  of  many  a  romantic  maiden  into  the  belief  that  he  cher-  i 
ished  for  her  a  tenderer  sentiment  than  he  had  ever  been    ' 
guilty  of  toward  any  human  being,  save  himself. 

His  voice  was  peculiarly  winning  in  its  tones,  and  he  was 
an  admirable  amateur  singer.  Every  gift  had  not  been  lav- 
ished on  Adele  ;  her  sister  was  the  sweet  songstress  of  Wav- 
ertree,  and  the  mutual  fondness  for  music  which  Pauline  and 
his  guest  betrayed,  had  naturally  misled  Mr.  Harrington  as  to 
which  sister  he  preferred. 

After  conversing  a  few  moments  with  happy  animation, 
Malcolm  turned  to  Pauline  and  said, 

"I  have  brought  you  some  fine  music,  Miss  Harrington, 
which  I  think  will  suit  your  voice  well.  I  have  heard  the 
new  prima  donna  in  it  in  a  rehearsal,  and  although  she 
comes  with  a  great  reputation,  I  scarcely  think  her  voice  so 
fine  as  yours." 


22 

"Thank  you  for  both  the  music,  and  the  compliment," 
said  Pauline  with  a  smile,  and  he  turned  toward  Adele,  with 
a  look  which  seemed  to  read  her  soul  as  he  said,  "  To  you 
mademoiselle,  I  venture  to  offer  these  beautiful  flowers,  as  the 
only  worthy  oblation  at  your  shrine." 

She  indolently  extended  her  hand,  and  with  a  slight  incli- 
nation of  the  head  received  the  bouquet,  to  which  every  public 
garden  in  the  vicinity  of  New  Orleans  had  contributed  its 
rarest  flowers.  Could  she  have  known  at  what  cost  of  time 
and  patience  it  had  been  procured,  how  jealously  it  had  been 
guarded  in  its  transit  from  the  city,  she  might  perhaps  have 
prized  it  more  ;  but  after  daintily  plucking  a  few  petals  from 
a  delicately-tinted  rose  which  formed  the  centre,  Adele  called 
a  servant-girl  from  the  yard  below,  and  transferred  the  flowers 
to  her  care,  with  injunctions  to  place  them  in  a  vase  of  water 
immediately. 

The  scornful  lip  of  Malcolm  slightly  curled,  and  the  flash 
of  his  eye  betokened  inward  wrath,  but  he  spoke  as  calmly  as 
though  no  disappointed  feeling  rankled  in  his  heart. 

Mr.  Harrington  inquired  the  latest  news  from  the  city. 

**  There  is  nothing  new,  I  believe,"  he  replied ;  "  all  alarm 
from  fever  has  passed  away,  but  the  citizens  have  as  yet 
scarcely  had  time  to  arouse  themselves  from  the  paralyzing 
influence  of  the  heat  cf  summer.  I  brought  with  me  the 
daily  papers  which  are  at  your  service.  From  them  you  will 
find  that  sugar  has  advanced,  and  is  likely  to  remain  firm." 

"  Good — so  much  the  better  for  the  agricultural  interests," 
said  Mr.  Harrington,  as  he  drew  forth  his  spectacles,  and  was 
soon  deeply  absorbed  in  the  news  of  the  day,  while  Malcolm 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  23 

turned  to  Pauline,  and  together  they  entered  the  parlor  to  try 
some  of  the  songs  he  had  brought  with  him.  Soon  a  blended 
strain  of  rare  melody  was  wailed  from,  the  open  windows,  and 
Adele  smiled  as  her  heart  whispered,  "  he  will  like  Pauline 
best,  if  I  show  him  how  cold  I  am  to  all  his  advances ;  she 
never  before  appeared  so  much  pleased  with  any  stranger. 
He  seems  good  and  noble — my  father  would  like  the  match,  I 
think,  and  I  shall  not  permit  a  useless  preference  for  me  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  Pauline's  happiness.  Oh!  poor  and 
perishing  beauty,  why  should  you  attract  so  -many,  when  my 
sister  is  so  much  better  worth  winning  than  I  ?" 

And  thereupon  Adele  fell  into  a  reverie  on  a  story  she  had 
just  finished  reading,  in  which  mental  beauty  was  held  up  as 
the  most  desirable  of  all  possessions,  and  she  came  to  the  sage 

±7  O 

conclusion  that  such  was  not  the  decision  of  the  world  in 
which  she  lived. 

Miss  Harrington  went  below  stairs  to  superintend  the 
storing  of  the  various  articles  ordered  from  New  Orleans  for 
the  approaching  birth-day  fete  of  the  only  son.  The  boat 
departed  on  her  way,  and  a  group  approached  the  house,  con- 
sisting of  that  young  gentleman,  accompanied  by  several 
guests  who  were  staying  at  Wavertree,  for  the  mansion  was 
rarely  destitute  of  company.  As  they  are  of  little  importance 
to  our  story,  we  need  describe  none  of  them  except  Victor 
Harrington. 

Nearly  as  beautiful  as  his  sister,  Adele,  he  was  too  effemi- 
nate in  appearance  to  be  considered  a  handsome  man ;  vain 
and  self-conceited,  he  considered  himself  the  "  glass  of  fashion 
and  the  mould  of  form,"  and  the  exquisite  style  of  his  toilette, 


24  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

proclaimed  him  at  once  a  dandy  of  the  highest  pretensions  in 
that  line. 

Victor  lightly  ascended  the  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the 
upper  gallery,  and  approaching  Adele  with  a  little  more 
animation  than  he  usually  condescended  to  manifest,  he  held 
out  a  letter  and  drawled — 

"Malcolm  brought  this.  I  must  say  that  Louise  seems 
more  than  sufficiently  charmed  with  him  ;  I  can't  see  what 
there  is  about  the  creature  to  attract  you  women  so  much. 
His  dress  is  decidedly  out  of  ton." 

Adele  laughed.  It  was  a  sweet,  musical  laugh,  which  the 
most  fastidious  would  not  have  been  shocked  to  hear  issue 
from  those  lovely  lips. 

"  That  is  what  your  sex  invariably  say  of  an  associate  who 
happens  to  be  particularly  popular  with  ours ;  vanity  and  envy 
confined  to  women,  indeed !  No  greater  slander  was  ever  ut- 
tered, as  I  could  prove  to  you,  brother  of  mine,  if  I  had  time, 
or  thought  it  would  produce  any  good  result.  I  will,  however, 
point  out  one  of  Mr.  Malcolm's  good  qualities :  he  is  manly, 
and  does  not  choose  to  imitate  the  affectations  of  the  feminine 
race,  as  do  some  I  could  name ;  but  I  will  not  be  ill-natured. 
Give  me  the  letter  of  Louise ;  I  am  impatient  to  learn  when 
she  will  join  us." 

"  Oh,  in  time  for  the  ball ;  she  will  be  sure  not  to  miss 
that,"  replied  Victor,  in  a  moody  tone.  "  I  suspect  Louise 
would  have  hurried  her  motions  if  she  had  known  a  little 
sooner  that  Malcolm  would  come  to-day,  and  remain  a 
week." 

"  For  shame,  brother !   Why  should  you  judge  Louise  so 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  25 

harshly  ?      There  is  nothing  in  this  letter  but  the  nonsense 
of  a  very  young  girl,  elated  at  the  prospect  of  her  first  ball." 

She  glanced  over  the  sheet  of  rose-colored  paper  she  held, 
profusely  ornamented  with  Cupids  wreathed  in  flowers,  and 
highly  perfumed.  It  was  addressed  to  herself,  although  Vic- 
tor, in  his  impatience  to  hear  from  the  writer,  had  taken  the 
liberty  of  opening  it.  The  missive  which  had  produced  such 
unpleasant  feelings  in  his  mind  contained  these  words  : 

"  DEAR  Coz : 

"  Mr.  Malcolm  came  himself  with  your  despatch.  I  was 
charmed  to  make  his  acquaintance,  for  I  think  him  a  most 
delightful  person.  So  handsome — so  distingue — the  last  a 
most  uncommon  merit  among  my  countrymen.  I  wonder  if 
my  baby  face  made  any  impression  on  him ;  yet  how  could 
I  hope  such  a  thing,  when  he  has  seen  and  knows  you.  N^im- 
porte — I  mean  to  be  a  belle  (if  ma  will  give  me  time  before 
she  marries  me  off),  and  who  knows  but  this  same  magnificent ! 
Celtic  Spanish  man  may  eventually  be  one  of  my  conquests  ? 

"  I  was  dying  to  come  up  this  week  to  Wavertree,  but  that 
odious  Mademoiselle  F.  did  not  finish  my  ball  dress  in  time,  and 
I  could  not  think  of  leaving  without  that.  It  would  be  Venus 
without  her  girdle,  for  I  intend  to  do  great  execution  in  this 
same  dress.  I  learn  that  your  fete  is  to  be  quite  a  fairy 
scene — you  will  be  the  Armida,  Pauline  the  Minerva  of  the 
evening,  and  I  will  content  myself  with  being  as  happy  as 
a  queen  ought  to  be,  though  I  am  afraid  they  are  not  often 
really  so. 

"  Tell  Victor  I  have  not  forgotten  my  engagement  to  dance 
2 


26 

the  first  Polka  with  him ;  I  have  been  taking  some  new  steps 
which  are  very  graceful ;  I  will  teach  them  to  him,  and  we 
will  practice  together  for  our  grand  exhibition.  After  all, 
Victor  is  the  very  best  dancer  I  know,  and  shows  one  off  to 
such  advantage  when  one  really  can  dance. 

"  There  is  a  poor  wandering  minstrel  playing  on  a  violin 
in  the  street,  nearly  opposite  my  window,  and  my  feet  will 
scarcely  keep  still,  so  impatient  are  they  to  tread  the  mazy 
round  at  a  real  ball. 

"I  am  sixteen  to-morrow,  and  ma  has  at  last  consented 
that  I  shall  make  my  debut.  I  wonder  if  my  heart  will  al- 
ways be  as  joyful  as  it  is  now.  Good-by,  sweet  coz,  and  be- 
lieve, feather-brain  as  I  am,  that  I  love  you  always. 

"  LOUISE  RUSKIN. 

"  P.  S.  Present  me  to  Aunt  Gertrude,  uncle,  and  Pauline, 
and  look  for  me  on  the  next  packet.  I  send  no  remembrance 
to  Victor,  because  on  an  occasion  of  such  importance,  I  think 
he  might  have  come  down  for  the  purpose  of  escorting  me  to 
Wavertree.  I  forgot  to  say  that  ma  will  accompany  me, 
though  that  is  a  matter  of  course ;  only  it  would  not  be  cour- 
teous to  omit  all  mention  of  my  respected  maternity  in  this 
hair-brained  epistle.  L.  R." 

Adele  read  the  letter  through  with  much  amusement,  and 
then  offered  it  to  her  brother. 

"  I  really  can  see  nothing  offensive  to  you  in  that  girlish 
nonsense,  Victor.  You  expect  too  much  of  Louise,  and  I 
warn  you  she  has  no  idea  of  romantic  constancy  to  one  object 
just  now.  If  you  really  wish  Louise  to  be  happy  as  your 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  27 

wife,  you  must  let  her  enjoy  her  first  youth,  and  allow  time 
for  the  effervescence  of  a  very  joyous  spirit  to  subside  into  the 
steadiness  required  in  one  who  assumes  the  cares  of  married  , 
life." 

"  Cares  of  married  life,  indeed !"  repeated  Victor,  mock- 
ingly. "  When  will  Aunt  Gertrude  speak  again  through  your 
lips,  I  wonder.  As  if  I  wish  Louise  to  be  dull  and  stupid — 
in  short,  otherwise  than  she  now  is,  in  order  to  become  my 
wife.  No,  I  love  the  very  mad-cap  spirit  that  rules  her,  and 
I  would  not  exchange  her  for  the  best  pattern  girl  I  know ; 
not  even  one  fashioned  by  our  good  aunt  herself.  She  makes 
girls  too  sensible  by  half,  as  was  proved  by  your  last  speech." 

He  sauntered  into  the  house,  carefully  folding  the  letter 
with  which  he  had  been  so  greatly  displeased,  and  it  was  soon 
placed  among  his  choicest  possessions.  Adele  smiled  as  she 
looked  after  him,  and  she  thought, 

"  After  all,  Victor  has  genuine  feeling  left,  in  spite  of  his  af- 
fectation and  nonsense.  Yet  my  giddy  little  Louise  will  never 
elevate  him  above  his  present  standard.  Why  could  he  not 
have  chosen  differently  ?  There  are  women  in  the  world  who 
might  have  made  Victor  quite  a  different  being  from  his 
present  self.  Yet  would  those  women  have  loved  him,  or  he 
them  ?  Ah,  my  own  heart  answers  no.  Like  will  seek  its 
like,  and  he  has  made  as  good  a  selection  as  the  nature  of 
things  permitted.  There  are  such  things  as  the  *  heart's  own 
country  people,'  I  well  know.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  find 
one  even  half  equal  to  my  ideal.  Ah,  that  entrancing 
melody !  One  more  look  at  the  setting  sun,  and  I  must  go 
in  and  join  them." 


28  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

The  young  girl  drew  near  her  father,  and  placed  her  hand 
in  his,  as  he  too  turned  his  chair  toward  the  declining  lumin- 
ary which  cast  a  golden  haze  over  the  whole  horizon.  No 
clouds  vailed  its  splendor,  and  the  vapor  hovering  near  the 
earth  reflected  only  the  yellow  rays  in  a  golden  glory  over 
the  landscape.  No  chilling  blast  of  winter  had  yet  breathed 
over  its  loveliness,  though  the  foliage  had  begun  to  assume 
the  changeful  hues  of  autumn,  imparting  a  variety  doubly 
welcome,  after  the  unbroken  verdure  of  summer. 

The  land  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  was  hilly  and 
uncultivated,  and  the  deep  forest  stretched  down  to  the 
water's  edge. 

Mr.  Harrington  fondly  clasped  the  hand  which  was  placed 
in  his  own,  and  passing  his  arm  around  the  slender  form  of 
his  daughter,  drew  her  close  beside  him.  He  spoke  with  ten- 
der melancholy  vibrating  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  : 

"  Ah,  my  child,  this  carries  me  back  to  other  times,  and  I 
could  almost  fancy  the  past  twenty  years  a  fantasy,  and  my 
own  lost  one  standing  beside  me  as  in  the  days  of  yore. 
Promise  me  one  thing,  Adele :  that  you  will  never  leave  me 
while  I  live ;  that  I  shall  feel  the  clasp  of  your  soft  fingers  in 
my  dying  hour." 

"  Dearest  father,  why  exact  such  a  promise  ?  Do  I  not 
love  you  best  of  all  on  earth  ?  Who  but  your  own  darling 
should  be  beside  you  in  that  solemn  hour  ?  Yet  speak  not  of 
it,  for  it  saddens  my  heart  to  allude  to  so  mournful  an  event, 
however  distant  it  may  be." 

"  Yet  we  must  all  die,  my  child ;  and  sometimes  I  fancy 
the  summons  for  me  may  not  be  so  far  off.  But  you  evade 


29 

my  request,  Adele.  My  sister's  surmise  can  not  be  correct, 
and  your  heart  be  favorably  inclined  toward  this  new  ac- 
quaintance. You  would  not  leave  your  father's  hearth  deso- 
late, to  carry  joy  into  the  home  of  Malcolm  ?" 

Adele  answered  gravely, 

"  I  would  not ;  for  I  have  never  felt  the  slightest  emotion 
of  preference  for  him." 

u  Right,  right,  my  bonny  bird !  yet  Malcolm  would  be  a 
brilliant  match  in  the  opinion  of  the  world.  If  he  and 
Pauline  should  like  each  other,  it  would  be  well ;  but  you, 
my  precious  Adele,  must  never  leave  me.  The  light  of 
that  day  in  in  which  I  could  not  behold  you,  would  be 
odious  to  me." 

"  Hush,  hush,  dear  father.  Place  me  not  so  far  above  the 
others  in  your  affections — so  far  above  my  deserts." 

"  God  knows  I  love  them  all  dearly,  but  he  also  knows  that 
he  gave  you  your  mother's  form,  to  keep  my  heart  from 
utterly  breaking  in  that  deep  sea  of  anguish  which  so  long 
flooded  my  soul.  But  the  lamps  are  lighted  in  the  parlors ; 
let  us  go  in  and  join  the  party  there." 

And  thus  in  social  excitement,  shaking  off  the  creeping 
shadows  which  often  come  over  the  heart  in  twilight,  even  as 
the  earth  darkens  with  the  departure  of  the  sun,  Mr.  Harring- 
ton, in  the  gorgeously-furnished,  and  brilliantly-lighted  sa- 
loon, soon  cast  aside  all  sadness,  and  joined  in  the  mirthful 
converse  as  easily,  and  apparently  with  as  much  enjoyment, 
as  the  most  youthful  of  the  group.  His  was  a  genial  temper- 
ament, and  to  see  others  happy  around  him,  reflected  at  least 
the  light  of  contentment  on  his  own  bosom. 


CHAPTER  III. 

AFTER  tea  was  served,  Miss  Harrington  joined  the  party, 
and  played  chess  with  one  of  the  elder  guests.  Pauline 
seemed  to  be  the  guiding  spirit  among  the  more  youthful  por- 
tion of  the  company,  and  Adele,  sought  after  and  flattered  as 
she  was,  always  deferred  to  her.  It  was  charming  to  behold 
the  perfect  union  which  subsisted  between  the  two  sisters, 
and  the  unobtrusive  efforts  of  the  more  attractive  one,  to 
bring  forward  and  show  the  best  points  of  the  other. 

Pauline  was  an  admirable  hostess,  for  she  seemed  intui- 
tively to  know  what  would  best  suit  each  individual  of  the 
company,  and  she  had  a  graceful  way  of  saying  pleasant 
things  which  rendered  her  charming  to  all  who  were  not  in- 
toxicated by  the  beauty  of  her  sister. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  several  young  planters  from 
the  neighborhood  joined  the  circle,  and  those  among  the 
guests  who  chose  to  do  so,  found  amusement  in  different 
games,  at  which,  however,  nothing  was  staked.  The  young 
hostesses  never  played  themselves,  as  they  were  too  fully 
occupied  in  conversing  with  the  different  guests. 

Malcolm  watched  Pauline,  and  he  admired  the  tact  with 
which  she  provided  each  one  with  the  amusement  best  suited 
to  his  capacity.  He  mused  on  the  contrast  between  the  two 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  31 

sisters,  and  as  lie  followed  the  movements  of  the  elder, 
bis  eye  caught  hers,  and  she  smiled  with  an  expression  that 
thrilled  his  heart  with  an  emotion  quite  unexpected  to  him- 
self. 

"  By  heaven !"  he  thought,  "  this  girl  might  have  made  an 
impression  upon  me  it  would  have  been  hard  to  erase,  if  I 
had  only  met  her  away  from  that  bewildering  creature,  her 
sister.  She  is  as  cold  to  me  as  an  icicle,  yet  one  glance  upon 
her  peerless  loveliness  makes  me  her  slave.  I  can  now  see 
some  sense  in  the  Eastern  law  which  renders  it  criminal  for 
a  woman  to  unvail  her  face  to  any  man  save  her  husband. 
Were  Adele  my  wife,  I  should  be  jealous  of  every  eye  that 
beheld  her  charms.  I  know  that  she  can  never  render  me 
half  as  happy  as  the  less  attractive  sister,  yet  from  the  mo- 
ment I  first  beheld  her,  a  species  of  frenzy  has  possessed  me. 
I  know  she  does  not,  that  she  never  will  love  me,  but  I  must 
and  will  call  her  mine,  either  with  her  own  consent,  or  if 
needs  be,  even  without  it.  Already  is  the  ground-work  laid 
of  that  plan  which  must  place  all  she  loves  at  my  mercy. 
Mercy !  I  have  none.  From  my  father  I  derived  my  cold, 
clear  intellect,  which  intercourse  with  the  world  has  only 
sharpened ;  from  my  mother  the  passionate  nature  of  her 
southern  race  ;  but  neither  gave '  me  one  impulse  of  compas- 
sion toward  the  rest  of  my  kind.  My  Jesuitical  preceptor 
completed  the  release  of  my  mind  from  such  vulgar  preju- 
dices as  sway  common  men.  He  also  taught  me  to  assume 
any  phase  of  character  which  would  give  me  influence  with 
the  associate  of  the  moment,  and  for  this  I  owe  him  thanks. 

By  its  power  I  sway  others,  and  mould  them  to  my  will." 
3 


32 

He  cast  a  serene,  triumphant  glance  around  the  room, 
taking  in  every  person  it  contained,  and  finally  resting  on 
the  bland  countenance  of  Mr.  Harrington. 

"  Unsuspicious  good  soul !  How  like  wax  he  is  in  my 
hands.  How  little  he  dreams  of  my  plans  while  he  hugs 
himself  in  the  delusion  that  he  is  about  to  increase  his 
fortune  by  thousands.  Fool !  why  could  he  not  rest  con- 
tent with  what  he  already  possessed?  It  would  be  quite 
sufficient  to  satisfy  any  man  but  one  who  wishes  to  live  en 
prince." 

At  that  instant  Adele  glided  past  him,  and  as  she  caught 
a  view  of  his  features,  the  expression  of  sarcasm,  mingled 
with  something  like  contemptuous  compassion,  caused  her  to 
pause  involuntarily  to  scan  its  meaning.  The  scornful  irony 
visible  there  must  surely  be  directed  toward  some  one  pres- 
ent, and  she  sought  to  follow  the  direction  of  his  eyes.  Be- 
fore she  had  succeeded,  Malcolm,  by  some  species  of  electrical 
sympathy  which  no  one  has  yet  been  able  to  explain,  became 
conscious  of  her  proximity.  He  turned  toward  her  with  a 
smile  so  winning,  that  she  marveled  that  the  hard,  cold  face 
she  had  recently  scrutinized,  could  now  look  down  upon  her 
with  an  expression  that  was  almost  fascinating. 

"You  must  be  a  very  Proteus,  Mr.  Malcolm,"  she  said,  with 
a  smile.  "  Just  now  I  was  likening  you  in  my  own  mind  to 
Mephistopheles ;  so  sardonic  was  the  expression  with  which 
.  you  regarded  our  innocent  pastimes,  in  which  I  am  sorry 
you  are  too  self-absorbed  to  join.  But  now,  your  features 
have  entirely  changed  their  character,  and  Alcibiades  himself 
could  not  have  worn  a  more  captivating  smile." 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.       33 

His  face  clouded  at  the  first  portion  of  her  remarks,  but 
cleared  up  brilliantly  as  she  concluded.  He  replied, 

"  It  was  certainly  not  grateful  to  my  vanity  to  be  compared 
by  you  to  Mephistopheles,  the  fiend,  the  tempter;  but  the 
remainder  of  your  speech  compensates  for  that.  Alcibiades 
was  the  most  elegant  and  admired  man  of  his  day.  To  be 
likened  to  him  in  any  manner,  and  by  lips  that  must  pro- 
nounce my  fate,  is  the  most  delicious  of  all  flattery." 

Adele  did  not  blush  as  Malcolm  had  hoped,  nor  did  she 
betray  any  emotion  at  the  covert  declaration  he  had  ventured 
to  make.  He  really  felt  doubtful  whether  she  had  heard  it  at 
all,  for  she  quietly  said, 

"  Flattery  between  friends  is  a  poor  substitute  for  sincerity, 
Mr.  Malcolm.  It  is  too  vapid  and  common-place  to  produce 
any  other  emotion  than  weariness.  I  came  hither  to  make 
an  effort  to  draw  you  from  your  sombre  reverie  by  propos- 
ing to  you  to  join  my  sister  and  myself  in  a  duett  which  sev- 
eral persons  have  expressed  a  wish  to  hear." 

"  Certainly  ;  a  wish  of  Miss  Pauline  Harrington's  has  only 
to  be  expressed  to  be  obeyed  by  me." 

"With  graceful  courtesy  he  offered  his  arm  to  conduct  her 
across  the  spacious  apartment  to  a  recess  occupied  by  a  fine- 
toned  piano.  Adele  tuned  her  harp  in  unison  with  it,  Mal- 
colm performed  on  the  flute,  and  soon  the  cards  and  back- 
gammon were  deserted,  and  a  charmed  group  gathered 
around  the  performers. 

Later  in  the  evening,  Victor  exhibited  an  accomplishment 
he  possessed,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  company.  Gifted  like 
his  elder  sister  with  a  fine  musical  ear,  he  could,  by  distorting 


34 

his  lips,  and  placing  his  fingers  over  them  in  a  peculiar  man- 
ner, produced  an  accurate  imitation  of  the  finest-toned  bugle ; 
and  he  produced  with  precision  the  favorite  airs  of  the  most 
celebrated  bugle-players  of  that  day.  The  performance  was 
carried  on  with  his  back  to  the  company,  for  Victor  was 
much  too  vain  of  his  beauty  to  distort  his  features  in  view  of 
others. 

Malcolm  was  equally  surprised  and  delighted  with  the 
others,  and  as  Victor  turned  smilingly  and  bowed  in  reply 
to  the  compliments  that  greeted  him,  he  said  to  the  young 
man, 

"  Should  fortune  ever  frown  on  you,  Mr.  Harrington,  and 
you  should  be  compelled  to  gain  your  own  subsistence,  you 
possess  a  great  resource.  A  theatrical  manager  would  give 
you  your  own  terms  to  perform  this  before  his  audience." 

Victor  smiled  proudly. 

"  In  the  event  of  such  a  crisis,  I  believe  I  should  prefer 
seeking  employment  in  some  more  honorable  calling." 

"  A  man  may  render  any  calling  honorable,  by  his  manner 
of  conducting  himself  in  it,"  replied  Malcolm,  coldly,  as  he 
turned  away,  half  offended  at  the  self-sufficiency  of  the  young 
exquisite's  manner.  "  Should  loss  of  fortune  compel  you  to 
exert  your  own  energies,  this  despised  resource  may  be  the 
only  one  open  to  you." 

"  Malcolm  has  you  there,  Victor,"  said  one  of  the  young 
men,  "for  I  really  believe  that  you  excel  in  nothing  else, 
though  you  are  generally  admitted  to  be  a  very  fascinating 
young  gentleman." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  drawled  Victor.     "  I  am  considered 


35 

an  unexceptionable  dancer  ;  at  least  my  cousin,  Louise,  thinks 
so,  and  she  is  no  mean  proficient  in  the  art  herself.  I  believe 
I  should  rather  teach  young,  budding  beauty  to '  trip  it  on 
the  light,  fantastic  toe,'  than  to  screw  up  my  phiz  nightly 
for  the  benefit  of  a  critical  audience.  After  a  while,  my  face 
might  take  that  set,  you  know,  which  would  be  duecedly  un- 


"Decidedly  so.  Ah,  I  have  thought  of  a  conundrum. 
Why  is  Harrington's  face  like  a  flute?"  and  the  speaker 
looked  around  triumphantly.  "  Do  you  give  it  up  ?" 

"  No,"  responded  another  youth,  dryly.  "  I  can  tell  that 
myself.  Because  it  has  to  be  screwed  up  to  get  it  in  tune. 
But  should  fortune  frown,  I  am  afraid  it  would  require  a 
great  deal  of  courage  to  screw  it  up  to  the  tooting  point,  eh, 
Victor  ?" 

All  laughed  at  this  sally,  and  the  speaker  bade  them  good- 
evening,  with  the  agreeable  conviction  that  he  had  said  some- 
thing witty : 

"  A  great  bore  is  that  young  De  Salle,"  muttered  Victor. 
"  In  his  attempts  to  be  witty  he  is  only  impertinent."  He  then 
spoke  aloud : 

"  Since  I  have  told  my  future  resource,  should  evil  days 
come  on  me,  pray  let  me  hear  what  the  remainder  of  the 
company  would  resort  to.  Since  you  are  so  kind  as  to  make 
a  suggestion  to  me,  Mr.  Malcolm,  I  will  begin  with  you." 

Malcolm  bowed  slightly,  and  made  a  motion  toward  the 
sisters. 

"  It  is  but  courtesy  to  give  tLe  ladies  precedence ;  then  I 
will  name  my  resource." 


36  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  Very  well.  I  begin  with  Aunt  Gertrude.  Speak  frankly, 
aunt,  and  tell  us  how  you  would  maintain  yourself  2" 

After  a  moment  of  consideration,  Miss  Harrington  said, 

"  In  my  girlhood,  this  question  assumed  a  serious  aspect  to 
me ;  and  I  considered  it  in  all  its  bearings.  Then  I  con- 
cluded that  I  was  best  fitted  to  train  and  instruct  the  young ; 
and  I  believe  I  should  still  select  that  as  my  occupation." 

"  Well  said,  dear  aunt,"  said  Pauline,  "  for  no  choice  could 
have  been  so  well  suited  to  you.  My  turn  comes  next,  I  be- 
lieve. Really,  I  have  never  thought  on  the  subject  before,  and 
I  am  a  little  puzzled  to  know  what  I  am  best  fitted  for  I 
possess  but  one  talent — an  enthusiastic  love  for  music :  but 
unfortunately  I  have  a  fineness  of  ear,  that  would  render  it 
absolute  torture  to  undertake  to  give  ordinary  instruction. 
Unless  I  followed  Mr.  Malcolm's  suggestion  to  Victor,  and 
appeared  as  a  public  singer,  I  believe  I  could  find  nothing  to 
suit  me." 

"  You  are  right,  Miss  Pauline.  Where  a  gift  of  such  rare 
perfection  as  yours  has  been  bestowed,  it  seems  a  pity  that  it 
should  be  buried  beneath  the  sunshine  of  prosperity :  it  should 
belong  to  the  world."  Thus  spoke  Malcolm,  and  Paulipe 
blushed,  and  her  eyes  grew  blighter  as  they  met  his.  Again 
their  expression  caused  that  indefinable  thrill  of  emotion,  and. 
he  asked  himself, 

"  Can  I  really  be  attracted  by  both  sisters  ?  The  soul  of 
one  responds  to  all  that  is  good  in  mine,  while  the  mere  out- 
ward beauty  of  the  other,  bewilders  and  enchants  me.  I  am 
in  a  singular  position  between  the  two :  however,  let  time  and 
opportunity  decide  between  them." 


37 

And  thus  lightly  deciding  what  was  of  such  vital  im- 
portance to  one  at  least,  Malcolm  turned  and  bowed  lowly  be- 
fore Adele. 

"  I  know  not  what  you  can  choose,  fair  lady,  for,  like  the 
lilies  of  the  field,  you  seem  formed  neither  to  'toil  nor  to 
spin.'  " 

"Yet  their  Maker  forgetleth  not  their  need,"  replied  Adele, 
promptly,  "  and  he  has  not  neglected  to  endow  me  with  at 
least  one  humble  resource.  I  can  embroider  with  such  skill 
as  almost  to  rival  the  beauty  of  the  flowers  from  which  I 
copy ;  such  work  is  always  well  remunerated,  and  although  I 
should  not  become  famous  like  Pauline,  I  could  lead  a  quiet 
and  respectable  life,  which  would  be  better  suited  to  my  tem- 
per than  a  more  public  one.  Now,  Mr.  Malcolm,  what  is 
your  resource  ?  As  the  last  one  to  speak,  you  have  had  more 
time  to  reflect  on  the  many  paths  open  to  a  cultivated  and 
energetic  man,  and  you  have,  doubtless,  chosen  well." 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  am  afraid  my  choice  will  scarcely  justify 
your  good  opinion  of  my  judgment.  I  would  pursue  any  em- 
ployment for  which  I  am  fitted  until  I  had  accumulated  a  few 
hundred  dollars,  wherewith  to  speculate.  That  is  an  occupa- 
tion which  tasks  every  resource  of  an  active  mind.  It  is  a 
great  game,  in  which  fortune  and  honor  are  often  staked ; 
yet  if  successful  at  last,  how  splendid  are  the  results." 

As  he  spoke,  his  clear,  brown  cheek  glowed,  his  eyes  lighted 
up,  and  his  tall  figure  seemed  to  dilate  with  the  exulting  con- 
sciousness of  success  in  whatever  he  undertook. 

The  quiet,  even  tones  of  Miss  Harrington  were  here  heard. 

"  It  seems  to  me  only  gambling  on  a  very  large  scale, 


38 

where  ruiu  is  more  complete,  and  wide-spread  if  the  financier- 
ing fails.  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  one  I  love  embark  in  so 
perilous  a  game." 

"  Nonsense,  Gertrude,  what  should  women  know  about  such 
things  ?"  said  Mr.  Harrington,  hastily. 

"  'T  is  true,  brother,  that  women  know  but  little  of  the  de- 
tails, but  results  they  are  often  compelled  to  feel  most  disas- 
trously. But  all  our  guests  have  not  yet  spoken,"  and  she 
turned  courteously  toward  the  others. 

/    /       The  most  of  them  had  not  made  up  their  minds  on  so 
v  \    intricate  a  subject  as  self  dependence,  and  waived  a  reply. 
Soon 'after,  the  party  broke  up,  and  the  family  retired. 

Light  gleamed  from  Malcolm's  window  until  past  mid- 
night, and  while  the  rest  of  the  household  slept  he  matured 
plans  likely  to  deprive  many  of  them  of  rest  for  many  a  night 
to  come,  lie  then  addressed  the  following  letter  to  a  con- 
federate in  the  bold  game  he  was -playing. 

"  DEAR  LEVERING  : 

"  You  will  see  from  the  date  of  this,  that  I  am  again  at 
Wavertree.  I  shall  soon  have  its  magnificent  owner  com- 
pletely in  my  power,  for  he  is  charmed  by  the  plans  I  have 
developed  to  him,  and  as  you  are  aware,  has  already  pledged 
his  credit  to  the  utmost  to  sustain  our  enterprises.  If  they 
fail,  he  is  ruined — and  in  that  event,  we  must  provide  for 
ourselves  as  well  as  we  can.  I  believe  they  will  be  success- 
ful, but  who  can  foresee  results  ?  It  is  necessary  to  my  ul- 
terior plans  that  Mr.  H.  shall  be  placed  completely  in  my 
power,  and  I  have  an  especial  bait  for  him,  so  suited  to  my 


39 

purpose  that  I  shall  propose  raising  something  more  sub- 
stantial than  credit,  to  insure  its  success.  Money  must  be 
obtained,  and  Mr.  H.  is  so  liberal  that  I  doubt  not  that  he 
will  promptly  and  unsuspiciously  meet  the  demand. 

"  It  seems  almost  a  pity  to  play  upon  the  credulity  of  so 
good  a  man,  and  I  believe  I  should  let  him  escape  with  only 
a  slight  call  on  his  resources,  if  money  were  the  only  thing 
at  stake.  Keep  clear  of  all  acquaintance  with  this  house- 
hold, I  warn  you  Levering,  for  in  it  is  formed  a  circle  from 
whose  charms  there  is  no  escape.  Beautiful  as  the  fairest 
dream  that  poet-artist  ever  imagined ;  fascinating  by  only  a 
single  movement  of  her  hand,  or  a  glance  of  her  eye,  yet 
seeking  not  to  charm.  Cold  to  all  proffers  of  love,  almost 
disdainful  to  me,  yet,  I  can  not  do  otherwise  than  worship 
this  magical  loveliness.  While  my  eye  rests  upon  Adele 
Harrington,  I  feel  that  it  would  be  possible  to  sacrifice  truth, 
honor,  every  thing  save  life  itself,  to  call  her  mine :  and  mine 
she  shall  surely  be. 

"  But — strange  anomaly  !  when  she  passes  from  my  vision, 
and  the  clear  soft  eye  of  her  sister  meets  mine ;  when  her 
seraph  voice  mingles  with  mine,  in  strains  that  seem  almost 
celestial,  the  little  good  that  so  often  lies  dormant  within  me 
is  suddenly  aroused,  and  I  feel  the  conviction  that  with  her, 
under  her  sweet  influence,  I  could  become  a  better  and  a 
happier  man,  and  do  good  to  others,  instead  of  working  their 
evil,  as  I  now  so  often  do.  And  this  fair  Pauline  would  love 
me — nay,  she  loves  me  now :  I  have  read  it  in  her  eyes,  when 
she  ireamed  not  how  much  they  expressed — and  I  half  love 
her — yet  no — Adele  rises  up  between  us,  and  I  repudiate  the 


40 

thought.  She — she  alone  is  my  fate  and  my  curse,  for  she 
will  hate  me  for  the  evil  I  must  bring  to  her  and  hers,  only 
to  bend  her  to  my  will.  Yet,  my  resolve  is  firm  as  iron,  she 
shall  become  my  future  wife,  whether  love  or  hate  rule  our 
household. 

"  It  is  madness,  I  know,  to  resolve  thus,  but  I  have  no  power 
to  act  otherwise.  I  believe  I  would  make  her  mine,  if  I  felt 
assured  in  clasping  her  to  my  heart,  T  should  be  consumed  to 
ashes,  as  she  of  old  who  asked  the  god  to  show  himself  in 
all  the  majesty  of  his  divine  attributes.  Ah !  I  must  cease 
this  rhapsody,  for  when  on  this  theme  I  forget  myself. 

"  My  host  is  a  fine,  generous-hearted  man,  and  were  less  at 
stake,  I  could  scarcely  find  it  in  my  heart  to  cause  that  open- 
handed  liberality,  which  knows  no  bounds,  to  be  checked  in 
its  course.  He  lives  profusely ;  keeps  open  house,  with  every- 
day a  dinner  of  many  courses,  with  the  most  exquisite  wines. 
Such  provision  is  made  for  every  guest,  that  on  his  arrival  he 
feels  as  if  he  had  been  long  expected,  and  arrangements  made 
beforehand  for  his  especial  comfort. 

"My  chamber  has  a  small  dressing-room  attached  to  it, 
and  both  are  furnished  with  such  luxury  as  would  amaze 
many  foreigners,  who  fancy  that  in  this  far  away  part  of  the 
world  we  are  in  a  state  of  semi -barbarism.  They  do  not 
know  what  a  progressive  nation  we  are,  and  forget  the  facili- 
ties that  steam  offers  for  the  attainment  of  any  luxury  we 
may  possess  the  means  to  purchase. 

"  Adjoining  my  room  is  the  library  ;  a  charmingly  lighted 
apartment  with  large  windows  with  deeply  embayed  recesses, 
such  aa  are  only  found  in  old  Spanish  or  French  houses.  A 


41 

venerable  tree,  which  gives  a  name  to  the  place,  rustles  its 
branches  against  these  old-fashioned  casements,  and  affords 
the  most  agreeable  green  twilight,  even  in  the  brightest  day. 
This  room  contains  an  excellent  selection  of  books,  in  En- 
glish, French,  and  German,  for  the  fair  sisters  speak  with 
elegance  all  these  languages.  Accessions  are  constantly 
made  to  them  by  new  arrivals  from  the  North. 

"  Mr.  Harrington  has  a  table  in  one  of  the  most  retired 
nooks,  devoted  to  his  own  use ;  and  on  this  his  political  and 
business  papers  are  daily  placed.  I  have  discovered  that  it 
is  Pauline  who  arranges  these  papers  so  deftly  that  no  dust  is 
permitted  to  accumulate,  yet  her  father  never  has  cause  to 
complain  that  they  are  in  confusion.  Clever  girl,  isn't  she  ? 
but  ah !  not  half  so  lovely  as  that  other  Peri,  Muse,  Grace— 
My  God !  why  was  this  woman  made  so  fair  and  so  cold  ? 
Will  the  voice  of  passion  never  touch  her  heart  ?  I  firmly 
believe  it  never  will,  but  I — 

"01  will  stop  here,  lest  you  think  my  mind  really  un- 
hinged. You  will  find  inclosed  some  directions  which  you 
will  scrupulously  follow,  and  be  sure  and  write  to  me  by 
every  mail,  inform  me  of  every  thing  relative  to  our  affairs, 
that  I  may  know  when  and  where  to  strike :  as  every  thing 
depends  on  judgment  and  skill  in  our  calling. 

"I  shall  probably  remain  here  a  week  or  ten  days,  as  a 
grand  festival  comes  off  some  time  this  week  in  honor  of 
the  birthday  of  the  only  son;  a  weak  and  beautiful  Nar- 
cissus who  would  be  quite  capable  of  imitating  his  proto- 
type, for  he  is  already  deeply  enamored  of  his  own 
attractions.  How  the  brother  of  such  sisters  can  content 


42  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

himself  with  being  a  mere  common-place  exquisite,  is  beyond 
my  comprehension. 

"  There  is  also  another  member  of  the  family  circle  who 
should  not  have  been  mentioned  last.  Miss  Gertrude  Har- 
rington, the  sister  of  my  host,  is  still  a  very  attractive  and  in- 
teresting woman.  The  greater  portion  of  her  life  has  been 
devoted  to  her  brother's  daughters,  who  certainly  do  credit  to 
her  training.  In  one  respect  she  has  been  only  too  success- 
ful :  she  has  given  them  such  high-toned  and  fastidious  senti- 
ments concerning  marriage,  that  I  believe  Adele  will  never 
find  one  to  suit  her  exalted  fancy.  Pauline  has  hitherto 
passed  unscathed,  but  now  if  I  choose,  I  fancy  she  has  met 
her  master. 

"To  my  world-hardened  soul  there  is  something  deliciously 
fascinating  in  the  thought  of  this  pure,  first  love  wreathing 
itself  around  my  image,  and,  at  moments,  I  could  almost  wish 
that  no  obstacle  existed  to  its  return.  Then  the  frenzied  pas- 
sion I  feel  for  this  tantalizing  being,  assumes  the  mastery  over 
me,  sweeping  every  rational  feeling  away  before  it. 

"Adieu,  Levering.  Do  not  think  me  quite  demented,  for  I 
assure  you  that,  except  on  this  single  subject,  my  thoughts 
are  as  clear,  my  mind  as  far-reaching  and  acute  as  ever. 

"  REGINALD  MALCOLM." 


CHAPTEE    IV. 

THE  apartment  of  the  sisters  was  on  tbe  side  of  the  man- 
sion opposite  to  the  one  occupied  by  Malcolm.  The  windows 
opened  on  a  balcony  that  overhung  the  flower  garden,  from 
which  they  could  enjoy  the  beauties  of  this  favorite  spot.  Be- 
yond the  hedge  which  inclosed  it,  was  a  group  of  fine  forest 
trees,  between  whose  waving  branches  silvery  gleams  of  the 
winding  river  could  be  seen.  The  room  was  large  and  well 
proportioned,  with  walls  as  white  and  smooth  as  marble,  with 
a  moulding  of  vine-leaves  and  grapes  around  the  ceiling.  In 
the  centre  was  a  similar  circle  from  which  was  suspended  a 
lamp  of  rose-colored  glass,  through  which  a  soft,  dreamy  light 
was  diffused  throughout  the  apartment.  The  floor  was  cov- 
ered with  a  delicately-tinted  carpet  of  costly  texture,  and 
the  furniture  was  of  ebony  inlaid  with  pearl.  It  had  been 
ordered  in  Paris,  and  elegant  and  tasteful  designs  furnished 
by  the  sisters  themselves.  Groups  of  fadeless  flowers  glowed 
in  every  direction  around  the  fair  young  beings,  now  in  the 
zenith  of  their  charms.  Two  large  mirrors  were  placed  where 
the  light  fell  best  upon  them,  and  a  few  fine  paintings  adorned 
the  walls.  These  represented  pastoral  scenes  in  Alpine  coun- 
tries, for  the  taste  of  the  sisters  led  them  to  select  what  con- 
trasted most  vividly  with  the  scenery  amid  which  they  had 
been  reared. 


44  V>v         THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

Books  were  scattered  through  the  room,  showing  that  a 
taste  for  reading  was  not  neglected,  and  an  open  portfolio 
contained  many  scraps  of  writing,  both  of  poetry  and  prose. 
There  might  be  read  the  thoughts,  fancies,  and  feelings  of 
two  youthful  minds  which  seemed  to  fiow  in  unison;  for 
nature,  which  had  made  their  outward  forms  so  unlike,  had 
stamped  a  remarkable  resemblance  upon  the  spiritual  being 
within. 

Pauline's  was  the  stronger  nature,  perhaps ;  but  in  all  that 
gives  a  poetic  coloring  to  youth,  in  the  freshness  of  feeling, 
the  buoyancy  of  temperament,  and  all  generous  emotions,  they 
were  as  one.  A  slight  variation  in  character  had  been  made 
by  the  different  experience  of  the  two  since  they  entered 
society.  Accustomed  to  find  herself  the  courted  idol  where- 
ever  she  appeared,  an  indifference  to  the  opinions  of  others 
tad  grown  up  in  the  mind  of  Adele,  when  she  saw  that  every 
thing  was  conceded  to  beauty  alone.  This,  perhaps,  had  ren- 
dered her  less  sympathetic  than  Pauline.  The  heart  of  the 
latter  was  as  a  sweetly-strung  lyre  which  responded  to  each 
skillful  touch,  but  only  now  had  the  master-hand  begun  to 
sweep  its  chords. 

At  night,  the  sisters  dispensed  with  the  services  of  a  maid, 
and  took  pleasure  in  performing  for  each  other  such  duties  as 
their  toilette  required. 

Pauline  sat  beside  the  open  window,  with  her  head  resting 
upon  her  hand,  absorbed  in  a  deep  reverie.  The  rose-colored 
curtain  was  thrown  back  from  the  casement,  and  the  blinds 
unclosed,  to  admit  the  bright  moonlight,  which  lit  up  the 
vapory  wreaths  that  began  to  rise  from  the  river  and  settle 


THE  PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  45 

over  the  landscape.  She  was  not  thinking  of  the  beauty  of 
the  night,  though  that  doubtless  exerted  an  unconscious  in- 
fluence upon  her.  Her  mind  was  occupied  by  one  of  those 
idle  dreams  which  come  only  to  the  young  and  the  romantic : 
vivid — unreal — charming  the  soul  into  an  imaginary  Eden, 
which,  alas  !  can  find  no  counterpart  on  earth  ;  brilliant  and 
unsubstantial  as  the  vapor  which  the  god  of  day,  for  a  brief 
season,  lights  up  with  the  glory  of  his  beams.  Pauline  had 
forgotten  the  presence  of  another,  until  Adele  approached 
and  placed  her  hand  upon  the  one  which  lay  idly  on  her  lap. 
She  gayly  said, 

"  Well,  sister  mine,  what  think  you  of  the  new  arrival  at 
Wavertree  ?  It  is  Mr.  Malcolm's  third  visit,  and  your  mind 
must  be  made  up  concerning  what  brings  him  hither." 

A  faint  rose  tint  gleamed  on  the  fair  cheek  of  Pauline,  and 
a  smile  parted  her  lips.  A  smile  of  such  sweet,  soul-lit 
meaning  as  betrayed  that  the  sound  of  that  name  already 
had  power  to  thrill  her  soul  with  pleasurable  emotions. 
There  was  a  softer  music  than  usual  in  her  tones,  as  she  re- 
plied, 

"I  think  him  eminently  agreeable.  He  was  describing 
some  of  his  European  adventures  to  me  this  evening,  and  I 
was  quite  charmed  with  his  eloquence.  He  possesses  a  keen 
appreciation  of  the  beautiful  and  the  noble,  united  with  a  per- 
ception of  the  ridiculous,  that  must  render  him  a  delightful 
traveling  companion.  Yes,  I  consider  Mr.  Malcolm  a  remark- 
able man,  as  well  as  a  very  handsome  one." 

Adele  laughed. 

"I  did  not  think  you  would  be  so  frank.     I  am  glad  you 


46  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

like  him  so  much,  for  I  believe  he  likes  you,  too.  I  watched 
him  this  evening,  when  his  eyes  fell  on  you,  and  I  am  sure  I 
interpreted  his  glances  rightly.  There  is  something  that  at- 
tracts him  irresistibly  toward  you,  which  he  scarcely,  as  yet, 
comprehends  himself;  but  he  will — and  he  will  learn  that 
this  is  the  true  love:  the  wordless  sympathy  that  most 
strongly  binds  souls  to  each  other.  Heigh-ho !  I  wish  I 
could  find  some  one  to  attract  me  thus  mysteriously." 

Pauline's  face  glowed  as  her  sister  thus  spoke,  and  the 
happy  light  in  her  eyes  shone  full  upon  her.  She  playfully 
said, 

"  For  a  young  lady  who  professes  to  know  nothing  of  the 
grand  passion,  you  talk  very  learnedly  upon  it." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  only  the  love  of  books.  I  have  been  reading 
of  affinities,  sympathies,  and  so  forth,  of  late,  in  the  hope  that 
some  such  mysteries  would  be  developed  iu  myself :  but,  alas ! 
no  such  miracle  has  taken  place.  I  listen  to  the  rhapsodies  of 
my  lovers  as  unmoved  as  if  I  were  really  the  marble  they  so 
often  compare  me  to." 

"  Could  not  Malcolm  move  you,  either  ?  I  thought  at  first 
that  he  admired  you  most." 

"  Admired — oh  yes,  of  course.  He  saw  that  I  am  what 
the  world  calls  beautiful,  and  he  rendered  the  usual  homage ; 
but  admiration  is  not  love,  Pauline ;  and  I  am  the  last  person 
to  accept  the  counterfeit.  Mr.  Malcolm  will  be  very  highly 
esteemed  by  me  as  a  brother,  but  the  duplicate  soul  created 
by  a  higher  power  to  blend  with  mine,  I  intuitively  feel  he  is 
not.  He  knows  this,  toovfor  he  has  met  his  better  self  in 
you." 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  47 

"  Perhaps  so,"  replied  Pauline,  carelessly,  as  she  rose,  as  if 
all  interest  in  the  discussion  had  suddenly  ceased.  "  But  it 
seems  to  me  this  is  rather  a  premature  decision,  Adele.  Mr. 
Malcolm  is  as  yet  almost  a  stranger  to  us,  so  let  us  not  discuss 
such  a  theme  just  yet.  After  all,  he  may  only  have  returned 
thither  to  see  our  father  on  business,  and  may  have  no  in- 
terest in  either'  of  us  beyond  the  mere  amusement  of  the 
hour." 

"  There  speaks  my  aunt's  prudence,"  replied  Adele,  smiling 
brightly.  "  Well,  we  will  drop  the  subject,  since  't  is  of  such 
perilous  import.  Does  Mr.  Malcolm *  remain  until  the  birth- 
day fete  ?" 

"  I  believe  so.  By  the  way,  he  told  me  he  brought  you  a 
letter  from  Louise." 

"  Yes ;  but,  as  usual,  Victor  appropriated  it.  Louise  will 
be  up  on  the  next  packet :  some  disappointment  about  her 
dress  was  all  that  prevented  her  coming  on  this  one  in  com- 
pany with  Mr.  Malcolm.  Victor  was  quite  jealous  of  her 
praises  of  him.  By  the  way,  I  really  believe  our  brother 
has  given  all  the  heart  he  possesses  to  our  giddy  little 
cousin.'' 

"  I  have  long  known  that,  and  from  the  disappointment  he 
will  inevitably  meet  there,  the  manliness  of  charactef  he  lacks 
may  be  developed.  Wise  writers  have  agreed  that  the  char- 
acter of  a  man  is  unformed  until  a  disappointment  in  love 
crushes  the  last  remnant  of  boyishness  out  of  him.  Such 
may  be  Victor's  experience." 

"  You  then  think  that  Louise  will  jilt  him  ?" 

"  Theirs  was  a  mere  childish  betrothal,  to  which  my  aunt 
4 


48 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 


*    V 

if.1 


attaches  little  importance.  Louise  likes  Victor  well  enough, 
for  their  tastes  assimilate  perfectly ;  and  our  worldly-wise 
aunt  sees  a  good  match  in  my  father's  son ;  but  should  a 
wealthier  suitor  present  himself,  I  am  afraid  poor  Victor's 
hopes  will  all  be  dashed  in  fragments." 

"  He  is  tolerably  safe,  then ;  for  from  my  father's  liberality, 
Aunt  Ruskin  imagines  his  fortune  to  be  exhaustless.  What 
a  life  they  will  lead  together,  neither  of  them  ever  seeking 
one  higher  or  more  ennobling  motive  than  the  amusement 
of  the  hour." 

"Let  us  not  speak  of  it.  Our  influence  over  Victor 
amounts  to  nothing,  and  father  possesses  but  little  more. 
He  is  free  to  make  his  own  choice,  and  we  must  make  the 
best  of  it.  Ah,  if  our  only  brother  had  possessed  talent,  high 
purpose,  how  proud  of  him  we  should  have  been !" 

"  True,  Pauline ;  but  we  must  love  him  still  as  dearly  as 
when  we  were  children  together,  in  spite  of  the  disappoint- 
ment we  have  suffered  in  him.  Do  you  remember  how  we 
used  to  sit  in  the  shade  of  the  old  oak,  and  talk  of  the  future  ? 
Then,  Victor  was  to  become  either  a  great  Warrior,  or  a  great 
statesman  :  you  thought  you  would  travel,  and  write  a  book 
describing  all  the  things  you  saw ;  while  I  always  said  I 
would  live  at  home,  and  take  care  of  my  father  in  his  old 
age.  I  wonder  if  either  lot  will  be  verified.  It  seems,  to 
my  small  experience,  that  what  we  dream  of  in  childhood  as 
the  choice  of  our  life,  is  always  what  is  denied  to  our  ma- 
turity. 'Ehomme  propose,  et  Dieu  dispose]  so  we  must 
submit  to  the  will  of  him  who  doeth  all  things  well." 

"  Yes,"  said  Pauline,  reverently,  "  our  good  aunt  has  taught 


49 

us  amid  prosperity,  never  to  forget  the  beneficent  love  which 
has  bestowed  on  us  so  much  to  be  thankful  for.  It  is  your 
turn  to  read  to-night,  Adele,  and  it  is  quite  time  to  cease  our 
chatter,  and  retire." 

Adele  took  from  the  table  a  volume  of  the  Scriptures  whictf 
was  evidently  not  kept  for  show,  alone,  and  slowly  turne4 
over  the  leaves,  while  the  sisters  composed  their  minds  to  the 
duty  before  them.  She  then  read  aloud  a  chapter  from  the 
New  Testament,  after  which  they  knelt  side  by  side,  in  prayer. 
When  they  arose,  they  affectionately  kissed  each  other,  and 
retired  to  the  same  couch  of  innocence  and  rest. 

Thus  had  their  second  mother  trained  them,  and  thus  they 
passed,  unscathed,  amid  that  world  which  had  failed  to  im- 
press its  own  character  of  frivolity  upon  them.  In  the  world, 
but  not  of  it,  they  were,  for  each  one  preserved  her  own  pure 
individuality,  and  placed  her  faith  and  trust  in  a  higher ; 
power,  as  firmly  as  the  ascetic  who  holds  himself  aloof  from) 
all  association  with  his  fellow-sinners,  fearing  their  evil  may 
prove  stronger  against  himself,  than  his  power  to  influence 
them  to  good. 

Why  was  Victor  so  different  from  these  lovely  sisters? 
His  father  thought  that,  as  a  boy,  he  must  be  trained  by  men, 
and  so  soon  as  he  was  of  an  age  to  leave  the  paternal  roofj  \ 
Mr.  Harrington  removed  him  to  a  northern  school,  where  he  / 
was  prepared  for  college.     From  there,  the  young  gentleman 
returned  home,  a  finished  exquisite,  with  as  small  an  amount 
of  information  as  was  possible  to  enable  him  to  pass  through 
the  various  grades  necessary  to  graduate  him.     Known  to  be 
the  only  son  of  a  wealthy  and  liberal  father,  Victor  was  ca- 


50  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

ressed  and  flattered,  until  but  one  true  emotion  lingered  in 
his  heart,  and  this  was  his  childish  love  for  Louise  Ruskin. 

Mr.  Ruskin,  the  father  of  Louise,  was  a  half  brother  of  Mr. 
Harrington.  He  had  settled  in  New  Orleans,  where  he  ac- 
cumulated an  independence,  as  a  cotton  factor.  He  died  be- 
fore attaining  middle  age,  leaving  a  widow  with  four  children, 
of  whom  Louise  was  the  eldest ;  to  whom  he  bequeathed  a 
fine  residence,  with  an  income  quite  insufficient  to  live  in  a 
style  suitable  to  the  aristocratic  ideas  of  the  family. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ON  the  following  morning,  Pauline,  as  was  her  usual  habit, 
came  on  the  front  piazza,  to  take  a  view  of  the  river,  and 
meditate  a  few  moments  alone.  She  found  a  hammock  which 
swung  from  one  corner,  already  occupied  by  an  earlier  riser 
than  herself;  and  while  he  remained  unconscious  of  her  pres- 
ence, she  paused,  involuntarily,  and  soon  forgot  the  purpose 
that  had  brought  her  thither. 

Malcolm  reclined  in  the  hammock,  and  his  eyes  seemed  to 
be  following  the  flitting  shadows  made  by  the  quivering  mo- 
tion of  the  leaves  in  the  morning  sunshine,  with  an  interest 
which  quite  preoccupied  his  mind.  Yet,  in  reality,  he  saw 
not  the  beauty  of  that  bright  morning.  Self-absorbed,  wrapt 
in  plans  in  which  self  was  most  deeply  interested,  his  subtle 
intellect  was  weaving  the  net-work  of  a  scheme  in  which  the 
happiness  of  all  she  loved  was  involved.  Yet,  even  then,  her 
image,  with  its  soft,  pure  eyes,  flitted  before  him,  and  seemed 
to  whisper  "  forbear :"  a  warning  which  caused  his  blood  to 
flow  with  accelerated  speed,  but  checked  him  not  one  instant 
in  his  purpose. 

Pauline  stood  motionless,  gazing  on  that  remarkable  face, 
on  which  passion,  intellect,  and  iron  will  were  stamped  in  lines 
of  power,  and  yet  of  wonderful  attraction.  It  was  impossible 


52 

to  find  a  face  of  finer  masculine  beauty,  but  it  was  one  to  be 
appreciated  only  by  the  cultivated  and  intellectual.  Amid 
the  strife  of  the  world,  with  man  against  man,  its  stern  hard- 
ness might  have  revolted  those  of  a  more  generous  tempera- 
ment ;  btft  among  women,  with  nothing  to  excite  his  antago- 
nism, and  every  motive  to  induce  him  to  please,  that  sternness 
was  lost  in  the  fascinating  smile  he  could  assume,  and  the 
passionate  tenderness  which,  at  will,  flashed  from  his  large, 
dark  eyes. 

What  the  young  girl  felt,  who  thus  gazed  in  silence  on  the 
placid  face,  which  betrayed  not  the  tide  of  emotions  within, 
has  been  told  a  thousand  times  in  ballad  and  in  fiction,  and 
will  be  read  with  interest  as  long  as  human  hearts  can  feel  the 
same  humanity  stirring  within  them. 

Pauline  was  far  from  comprehending  her  own  feelings, 
though  they  were  so  clearly  mirrored  in  her  face,  that  the 
worldly-wise  man,  as  he  became  aware  of  her  presence,  and 
started  from  his  resting-place,  to  offer  the  morning  greeting, 
read  them  as  clearly  as  if  words  had  given  them  utterance ; 
and  the  softness  of  his  manner,  as  he  approached  and  stood 
beside  her,  caused  the  blood  to  mantle  her  cheeks  with  an 
unusual  glow. 

What  Malcolm  said  was  common-place  enough  ;  something 
about  the  beauty  of  the  morning,  but  that  was  of  no  conse- 
quence. As  his  expressive  eyes  rested  upon  her,  Pauline  felt 
as  if  suddenly  permitted  to  have  a  glimpse  of  paradise  ;  as  if 
the  airs  of  Eden  were  fanning  her  cheek,  and  sending  their 
rapturous  glow  throughout  her  frame. 

What  was  the  source  of  the  wonderful  power  this  man  had 


53 

so  easily  assumed  over  her  ?  As  he  held  her  hand  claspec). 
a  moment  in  his,  she  felt  as  if  it  could  lead  her  over  thja 
world,  only  too  happy  to  be  forever  by  his  side. 

Pauline  immediately  recovered  her  self-possession,  and  led 
the  way  to  a  point  from  which  the  best  view  of  the  landscape 
could  be  obtained.  She  pointed  out  all  its  beauties  to  her 
companion,  but  her  eloquent  words  were  lost  on  him.  His 
eyes  mechanically  followed  her  movements  as  she  indicated 
her  favorite  points  in  the  scene,  but  they  returned  each  in- 
stant to  the  animated  face  which  charmed  him  much  more 
than  river  and  woodland.  At  length  she  paused,  and  he 
said, 

"It  is  all  beautiful." 

"  You  really  think  so  ?     Well,  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  I  love  ' 
every  leaf  and  spear  of  grass — nay,  every  ripple  in  the  old 
river  is  dear  to  my  heart.     It  is  my  home,  though,  and  I 
have  known  no  other :  it  is  but  natural  that  I  should  love  it 
dearly." 

"  Could  you  not  then  bear  to  leave  it  with  one  who  loves 
you  ?  to  whose  happiness  you  felt  yourself  necessary  ?"  asked 
Malcolm,  with  his  unfathomable  eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  an 
expression  of  earnest  inquiry  that  made  her  heart  tremble. 
Pauline  did  not  immediately  reply,  and  she  then  said,  in  a 
lower  and  more  quiet  tone, 

"  I  have  not  seriously  thought  on  that  subject.  It  could 
not  be  the  true  love  which  would  find  a  rival  even  in  the 
beloved  home  of  my  infancy,  where  strife  nor  contentions 
never  entered." 

He  seemed  struck  with  her  concluding  words. 


54  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  A  home  without  strife  or  contention  must  indeed  be  a 
paradise  on  earth.  You  will  be  brave,  Miss  Harrington,  to 
leave  it  for  the  truest  love  that  human  heart  can  offer." 

"  Yet  it  seems  the  usual  course  of  destiny,"  replied  Pauline, 
"  and  I  may  not  prove  wiser  than  the  rest  of  my  sex." 

"  In  that  decision  may  be  true  wisdom,  perhaps ;  for  the 
home  presided  over  by  you  must  be  one  of  peace  and  happi- 
ness. Lost  indeed  must  be  that  man  who  could  not  feel  him- 
self nobler  and  happier  in  having  such  an  angel  ministrant 
beside  his  hearth." 

There  was  a  depth  and  earnestness  in  his  tones  that  thrilled 
to  her  heart,  and  often  as  Pauline  had  listened  to  the  language 
of  flattery,  no  words  ever  before  addressed  to  her  had  pro- 
duced so  sweet  an  illusion.  They  made  her  happier,  of  more 
importance  in  her  own  estimation  than  before,  and  she  stood 
in  silence  beside  him,  scarcely  conscious  of  the  lapse  of  time. 

The  spell  was  broken  by  the  voice  of  Adele,  and  Malcolm 
turned  toward  her  with  a  painful  revulsion  of  feeling.  A 
moment  before,  all  had  seemed  at  peace  within  him ;  his  rest- 
less and  stormier  feelings  lulled  to  magical  repose  by  the 
singular  power  the  eyes  and  voice  of  Pauline  possessed  over 
him.  Now  appeared  the  antagonistic  power,  and  innocent  as 
Adele  was  of  any  intention  to  arouse  the  turbulent  swell  of 
passion  in  that  wayward  breast,  such  was  ever  the  effect  of 
*  her  presence.  But  Malcolm  possessed  great  power  of  self- 
control,  and  he  knew  that  the  success  of  his  plans  depended 
on  its  exertion.  Until  the  proper  moment  came  to  avow  his 
true  wishes,  Adele  should  not  again  have  cause  to  believe  her- 
self preferred  before  her  sister ;  nay,  the  contrary  impression 


55 

he  would  endeavor  to  make,  without  actually  commiting  him- 
self with  Pauline.  Her  happiness  was  a  secondary  considera- 
tion with  him,  much  as  he  was  flattered  by  the  preference  she 
evinced  for  himself;  much  as  he  was  attracted  toward  her,  he 
wavered  not  one  instant  in  the  course  he  had  marked  out  for 
himself.  With  characteristic  selfishness,  he  rushed  forward, 
reckless  of  the  bleeding  hearts  he  trampled  on  in  his  course 
to  the  gratification  of  his  own  wishes.  His  better  nature  was 
stifled,  but  his  good  angel  vailed  his  face,  and  waited  silently 
for  the  hour  in  which  he  would  yearn  for  the  power  to  repair 
evil  he  had  so  recklessly  caused.  Then  he  would  learn  a  lesson 
which  would  last  as  long  as  life. 

This  morning  Adele  looked  so  lovely  in  her  delicate  morn- 
ing wrapper,  and  plainly  braided  hair,  that  his  very  spirit 
bowed  before  the  incarnate  ideal  of  beauty  before  him  ;  while 
she  smiled  and  talked  as  if  unconscious  of  her  pre-eminent 
attractions;  yet  Malcolm's  manner  was  coldly  polite,  and 
Adele  was  quite  satisfied  that  he  had  indeed  discovered 
where  the  true  attraction  lay. 

In  a  few  more  moments  the  summons  to  breakfast  came, 
and  the  three  descended  the  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the 
lower  piazza  on  which  the  eating-room  opened.  The  windows, 
like  those  above,  opened  to  the  floor,  and  through  them  was 
wafted  the  pleasant  freshness  of  the  morning  air,  perfumed  with 
the  odor  of  flowers. 

Miss  Harrington  presided  as  the  mistress  of  the  mansion, 
and  the  assembled  party  placed  themselves  around  the  table 
as  chance  directed.  Malcolm  secured  a  seat  next  to  Pauline, 
and  Adele  glided  into  the  vacant  one  on  her  father's  left 


56 

hand  which  was  generally  understood  to  be  peculiarly  her 
own. 

Mr.  Harrington  was  in  a  very  blithe  mood  this  morning, 
and  an  animated  conversation  was  carried  on  over  the 
fragrant  coffee.  Malcolm  bore  his  part  in  it  so  grace- 
fully, and  showed  such  extensive  and  accurate  information 
on  every  subject  touched  on,  as  to  surprise  Mr.  Harrington. 
Pauline  listened  with  charmed  attention,  and  even  Adele  was 
interested. 

Immediately  after  rising  from  the  table,  Malcolm  requested 
a  few  moments'  conversation  with  his  host,  and  together  they 
went  into  the  library.  Mr.  Harrington  seated  himself  in  his 
usual  recess  beside  the  window,  and  endeavored  to  assume 
a  business-like  air,  while  Malcolm,  grave  and  serene  as  the 
fathomless  sea,  placed  himself  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
table,  and  carelessly  played  with  a  paper-folder  that  lay  upon  it. 

"Any  thing  new  on  the  subject  of  our  speculations  ?"  asked 
the  elder  gentleman,  somewhat  nervously. 

"  I  receive  constant  information  on  the  subject  which  is  of 
such  vital  importance  to  both  of  us,"  replied  Malcolm,  calmly. 
"  There  is  nothing  absolutely  new  about  that  to  communicate : 
but  I  have  something  to  propose  which  I  think  will  interest 
you.  If  I  could  command  fifty  thousand  dollars,  I  know  of 
an  operation  by  which  I  could  with  certainty  treble  the  money 
in  three  weeks." 

The  spirit  of  the  gambler  was  thoroughly  roused  in  Mr. 
Harrington  ;  his  eyes  sparkled,  his  cheeks  glowed,  as  he  asked, 

"  Are  you  perfectly  sure  of  the  speedy  return,  Malcolm,  and 
the  enormous  profit  ?" 


57 

u  I  can  speedily  convince  you,  sir.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  do 
any  thing  in  the  dark." 

Malcolm  drew  from  his  pocket  several  documents  which  he 
placed  upon  the  table.  The  nature  of  these  he  explained  in 
words  which  were  clear  and  convincing  to  the  listener,  and  as 
he  concluded,  he  said, 

"  My  own  resources  are  so  completely  tied  up  in  other  spec- 
ulations, that  I  can  not  command  the  means  to  avail  myself 
of  this  magnificent  opening.  But  I  thought  it  right  to  let 
you,  a  moneyed  man,  know  how  much  you  could  gain  by  risk- 
ing a  little." 

He  paused,  and  after  a  few  moments  Mr.  Harrington  said, 
slowly, 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars  !  It  is  a  large  sum.  To  raise  it 
I  must  mortgage  my  whole  income  for  two  years  and  a  half, 
and  if  the  thing  should  fail  after  all,  you  see  it  would  be 
rather  an  awkward  predicament  for  an  extravagant  fellow  like 
myself." 

"  Fail !  My  dear  sir,  there  is  no  such  word  for  any  thing 
I  undertake  to  bring  to  a  successful  conclusion.  I  consider 
this  as  safe  as  if  the  whole  sum  were  already  in  your  posses- 
sion. It  is  absolute  child's  play  to  win  in  a  game  that  is  so 
sure.  I  spoke  of  risk  certainly,  but  there  is  really  none,  as  I 
could  convince  you,  if  I  were  at  liberty  to  tell  all  I  know 
about  it.  There  are  secrets  in  all  crafts,  you  know,  and  I 
have  information  concerning  this  property,  which  I  am  certain 
would  decide  you  at  once.  I  think  I  may  venture  to  tell  you, 
as  you  are  an  interested  party." 


58  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

Mr.  Harrington  listened  eagerly,  as  Malcolm  went  on  in  a 
lower  tone : 

"  There  is  a  flaw  in  the  title  to  this  estate,  which  the  owner 
has  but  recently  discovered.  Hence  his  anxiety  to  sell  at 
only  a  third  of  its  value.  It  so  happens  that  I  have  been 
able  to  perform  an  important  service  for  the  only  person  who 
can  rectify  this.  The  widow  of  the  former  owner  is  childless, 
and  enormously  rich  ;  I  have  from  her  a  promise,  in  writing, 
to  give  me  a  perfect  title  if  I  become  the  purchaser.  Thus, 
you  see,  there  is  no  chance  of  loss.  Bought  in  my  name,  I 
would  immediately  transfer  it  to  you." 

He  watched  the  earnest  face  of  Mr.  Harrington,  as  ho 
thus  spoke,  and  read  in  its  variations  the  effect  his  words 
produced.  As  he  concluded,  he  drew  the  promise  to  which 
he  had  alluded  from  his  pocket,  and  exhibited  it.  The 
paper  bore  the  signature  of  an  aged  woman,  well-known  in 
her  native  State,  as  the  inheritor  of  great  wealth  from  her 
lately-deceased  husband. 

Mr.  Harrington  examined  it  attentively,  and  after  drum- 
ming with  his  fingers  upon  the  table,  he  suddenly  said, 

"  By  heaven,  I  will  do  it !  The  temptation  is  too  great 
to  be  withstood.  But  tell  me  this,  Malcolm  ;  can  the  prop- 
erty be  sold  immediately  ?  I  have  no  desire  to  retain  it ; 
the  money  must  be  replaced,  for  I  can  not  bear  to  be 
cramped  in  my  resources.  It  would  be  especially  incon- 
venient just  now,  when  my  children  have  a  right  to  the 
gratifications  I  have  never  denied  myself." 

"  A  purchaser  is  ready  to  take  it  off  your  hands  at  its 
just  valuation.  All  that  was  attended  to  before  I  spoke 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  59 

to  you  on  the  subject,  as  I  anticipated  some  sucn.  ob- 
jection." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  a  perfect  trump ;  and  what  is 
to  be  your  own  recompense  for  thus  serving  my  interests? 
Any  percentage  you  may  think  reasonable  for  conducting 
this  business,  I  am  quite  ready  to  allow  you ;  for  you  see, 
without  your  assistance  I  should  never  have  made  any  thing 
at  all." 

"  There  is  a  reward  I  may  hereafter  claim,"  said  Malcolm, 
"  but  it  is  not  a  pecuniary  one,  my  dear  sir.  Permit  me  to 
have  the  gratification  of  serving  your  interests  in  this  in- 
stance without  claiming  a  portion  of  the  spoils." 

"  I  understand  you,"  replied  his  dupe,  with  a  smile,  for  he 
believed  that  his  own  observation  had  fathomed  the  secret 
of  Malcolm's  preference  for  Pauline,  during  the  matin  meal, 
and  he  felt  quite  convinced  that  her  hand  was  the  prize  he 
aimed  to  secure. 

"  And  believe  me,  Mr.  Malcolm,"  he  added,  "  that  I  shall 
feel  gratified  to  aid  you  by  every  means  in  my  power.  In  the 
end,  it  shall  not  be  the  worse  for  you  that  you  refuse  this." 

"I  do  not  need  it.  My  future  prospects  are  brilliant. 
Assured  of  your  consent  in  what  so  nearly  concerns  my 
happiness,  I  ask  for  nothing  more.  And  now,  dear  sir, 
let  us  to  business.  I  am  sufficiently  a  lawyer  to  know  what 
is  necessary  to  be  done,  and^to  draw  up  such  orders  as  can 
be  negotiated  by  my  agent  in  New  Orleans.  No  time  is 
to  be  lost,  I  assure  you,  in  concluding  this  business,  as  a 
positive  answer  was  promised  before  the  end  of  the  present 
week." 


60  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"I  am  at  your  service.  I  will  sign  whatever  you  may 
consider  necessary,  and  my  commission  merchant  will  honor 
my  drafts  to  the  full  amount." 

Thus  unsuspiciously  did  Mr.  Harrington  surrender  himself 
into  the  power  of  a  man  who  had  the  art  to  inspire  all  who 
approached  him  with  a  belief  in  his  honor  and  integrity. 
Ample  testimonials  he  had  furnished  of  his  high  position,  and 
his  ability  to  redeem  such  pledges  as  he  made.  Thus  far 
no  imposition  had  been  practiced,  and  when  Malcolm  first 
sought  Mr.  Harrington,  it  was  with  the  same  honorable 
intention  which  had  hitherto  ruled  all  his  dealings.  He 
had  done  hard  things  as  a  successful  speculator,  but  no  un- 
principled ones,  and  until  he  beheld  Adele  Harrington,  and 
loved  her  so  hopelessly,  the  idea  of  his  present  game  had 
never  occurred  to  him.  To  make  her  feel  his  iron  grasp 
upon  her  fate ;  to  force  her  to  give  herself  to  him,  as  the 
price  of  redemption  from  ruin  to  her  idolized  father,  Malcolm 
would  have  risked  much  more.  Throughout  all  he  was  scru- 
pulous to  avoid  every  appearance  of  fraud,  that,  end  as  their 
speculations  might,  his  own  character  should  remain  without 
reproach.  In  the  present  dealing,  he  only  intended  to  hold 
the  title  to  the  property  thus  purchased  in  his  name,  until 
his  necessities  forced  from  Mr.  Harrington  his  consent  to  a 
union  with  his  favorite  daughter.  Then  their  interests  would 
be  united,  and  henceforth  his  father-in-law  should  have  no 
cause  to  complain  of  him. 

"  I  wonder  what  Gertrude  will  say  when  she  learns  the 
result  of  all  this  ?"  thought  Mr.  Harrington,  as  he  placed  his 
signature  to  the  papers  offered  him  by  Malcolm,  and  he 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  61 

smiled  at  the  pleasant  idea  of  her  surprise,  when  he  should 
announce  to  her  his  sudden  access  of  fortune.  How  he 
would  dispose  of  it  was  already  arranged  in  his  own  mind, 
and  with  agreeable  -visions  floating  before  his  excited  fancy, 
he  went  forth  amid  his  guests,  followed  by  his  tempter,  who 
looked  as  bland,  and  spoke  as  carelessly  as  if  no  scheme 
beyond  the  amusement  of  the  hour  had  ever  been  harbored 
in  his  subtle  mind. 

Two  more  days  flowed  on  in  the  same  quiet  manner,  dur- 
ing which  Malcolm  devoted  himself  to  the  society  of  the 
sisters,  and  a  casual  observer  would  have  perceived  no  dif- 
ference in  his  manner  to  either ;  but  to  them  there  was  a 
slight  shade  of  distinction  quite  perceptible  ;  and  hourly  the 
conviction  grew  on  the  mind  of  Pauline  that  he  loved  her, 
and  in  the  silent  communing  of  her  spirit,  her  heart  over- 
flowed with  thankful  happiness  that  to  her  had  been  granted 
a  lot  which  promised  such  perfect  content.  Love  with  her 
was  not  the  mere  idle  preference  of  a  young  girl,  who  has 
been  taught  to  believe  that  only  in  early  marriage  can  a 
woman  find  her  legitimate  destiny.  It  was  the  strong 
attachment  of  a  responsible  and  thinking  being  for  one  pre- 
ferred before  all  others ;  with  whom  she  was  willing  to  link 
her  being  throughout  all  time. 

Could  Malcolm  have  looked  into  her  heart,  and  seen  how 
deep,  how  fervent,  how  pure  from  all  taint  of  selfishness  was 
the  affection  he  had  won,  the  beauty  of  soul  thus  displayed 
would  have  eclipsed  the  charms  that  had  made  him  a  reckless 
invader  of  domestic  happiness. 


CHAPTER  YI. 

Miss  HARRINGTON  was  busily  employed  preparing  for  the 
expected  fete,  and  was  unobservant  of  what  was  passing  be- 
tween the  three  whose  happiness  was  so  deeply  involved  in 
each  fleeting  hour. 

Guests  from  a  distance  were  gathering  in,  and  the  large 
house  was  filled  with  company,  with  the  exception  of  one 
room  reserved  for  Mrs.  Ruskin  and  her  daughter.  They  were 
expected  on  the  next  packet,  and  Miss  Gertrude  resigned  her- 
self to  the  thought  of  the  inquisition  into  her  family  affairs  to 
which  she  knew  she  would  be  compelled  to  submit ;  and  sighed 
in  anticipation  over  the  lectures  on  her  management  to  which 
she  knew  she  would  be  forced  to  listen  at  least  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  complacency.  Mrs.  Ruskin  was  a  woman  of  vast 
importance  in  her  own  estimation  at  least,  and  fully  believed 
that  she  understood  the  science  of  domestic  economy  better 
than  any  one  else.  Her  sister-in-law's  housekeeping  was 
always  a  fruitful  theme  of  fault-finding  with  her,  for  she 
had  not  sufficient  breadth  of  understanding  to  compre- 
hend that  the  system  practiced  in  her  narrow  household 
could  not  be  tolerated  for  a  day  in  such  an  establishment 
as  Harrington's.  Mrs.  Ruskiu  did  not  choose  to  compre- 
hend this,  for  she  was  of  that  class  of  women  who  make 


63 

their  own  management   the  standard  by  which  they  judge 
that  of  all  their  friends. 

She  duly  arrived  at  the  appointed  time,  and  exhibited  a  tall 
bony  figure,  clad  in  the  extreme  of  fashion,  with  a  length  of 
neck  which  certainly  emulated  that  of  the  swan,  though  the 
grace  and  whiteness  of  the  latter  had  been  withheld,  as  a 
temptation  to  vanity  which  Mrs.  Ruskin  did  not  need,  pos- 
sessing as  she  did  a  sufficient  supply  of  that  quality  without 
any  visible  reason  for  indulging  it. 

Her  face  was  hard  and  harsh  in  its  outlines,  and  even  in 
youth  could  have  boasted  little  claim  to  beauty.  She  had, 
in  spite  of  her  want  of  attractions,  certainly  won  for  a  hus-  . 
band  a  handsome  man,  with  a  noble  and  gallant  spirit 
of  his  own.  For  the  sake  of  peace,  he  permitted  her  to  ex- 
ercise unlimited  sway  over  his  house  and  family,  and  since 
his  death,  this  love  of  managing  had  been  frequently  exercised 
on  such  of  her  friends  as  would  submit  to  her  rule. 

Louise  Ruskin,  the  eldest  daughter  of  this  unattractive  — 
mother,  was  a  delicate  graceful  blonde,  with  a  complexion  as 
soft  and  rosy  in  its  hue  as  that  of  an  infant ;  eyes  of  deep 
azure,  and  a  profusion  of  waving  hair  of  a  soft  paly  brown. 
Her  motions  were  quick  and  agile  as  those  of  a  playful  fawn, 
and  her  vivacity  was  unconquerable.  Even  the  iron  rule  of 
her  mother  had  never  been  able  to  discipline  her  into  subjec- 
tion. She  evaded  her  authority  when  it  was  possible  to  do 
so,  and  sometimes  openly  rebelled  against  it,  though  means 
were  always  found  to  punish  these  outbreaks  when  she  was 
least  anticipating  it. 

Mr.  Harrington  himself  went  forth  to  meet  the  exacting 

Q 


G4  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

widow,  when  the  boat  landed,  for  he  was  fully  conscious  that 
the  omission  of  that  courtesy  would  be  visited  by  the  most 
ungracious  treatment  both  of  himself  and  the  guests  that 
were  within  his  mansion.  He  conducted  her  in  formal  state 
toward  the  house,  expressing  by  the  way  his  pleasure  in  wel- 
coming her  to  his  abode  on  this  festive  occasion. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  acknowledged  the  courtesy  coldly,  and  replied, 

"  I  can  not  say  that  I  greatly  approve  of  such  temptations 
to  the  young  to  pass  the  bounds  of  reason  in  their  pleasures. 
The  whole  night  will  doubtless  be  given  to  revelry ;  but  as  it 
is  Victor's  birthday  fete,  and  he  is  your  only  son,  I  though 
it  my  duty  to  be  present." 

"And  as  he  is  moreover  likely  to  become  your  son,  be- 
fore very  long,  it  became  doubly  your  duty,  both  to  youi 
daughter  and  yourself  to  attend,"  replied  Mr.  Harrington. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  smiled  grimly,  as  she  said, 

"  Perhaps  so — but  they  are  very  young." 

She  slowly  ascended  the  staircase  leading  to  the  upper 
piazza,  on  which  stood  Miss  Harrington  and  her  nieces,  in 
readiness  to  receive  her.  She  took  the  offered  hand  of  the 
elder  lady,  and  impressing  a  cold  kiss  upon  the  cheeks  of 
the  two  younger  ones,  said  rather  sharply, 

"  I  really  think,  girls,  that  on  an  occasion  like  the  present, 
you  might  have  shown  me  the  respect  to  descend  into  the 
yard,  and  meet  me.  I  should  then  have  felt  that  I  received 
a  warm  welcome  from  youthful  hearts  that  should  love  me 
for  the  interest  I  take  in  their  welfare." 

Pauline  took  her  hand  in  her  simple  graceful  manner,  and 
said, 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.       05 

"Thank  you,  aunt,  for  the  expression  of  your  last  senti- 
ment, and  I  trust  you  will  believe  that  neither  of  us  is  un- 
grateful for  it.  We  thought  to  do  you  more  honor  by  meet- 
ing you  in  a  family  group  in  the  house.  Believe  me,  no 
slight,  or  want  of  affection,  influenced  your  reception,  which 
I  am  sorry  does  not  please  you." 

There  was  a  charm  in  her  manner,  and  in  the  truthful 
expression  of  her  face,  which  mollified  Mrs.  Ruskin,  she  knew 
not  why,  and  she  said, 

"I  am  not  hurt,  nor  offended,  Pauline,  only  I  always* 
think  it  is  good  to  let  young  people  know  when  they  fail 
in  respect  to  their  elders.  Ah!  there  is  Mr.  Malcolm"— I 
and  she  advanced  with  her  most  gracious  manner  to  speak 
to  him. 

In  the  mean  time,  Louise  had  detained  Victor  in  the  yard 
below,  while  she  flitted  among  the  shrubbery  ostensibly 
gathering  flowers,  but  really,  as  she  whispered  to  him,  "  to 
give  Madam  Stiff  an  opportunity  to  administer  the  reproofs 
she  would  be  sure  to  find  occasion  for." 

Well  as  he  knew  her,  Victor  was  a  little  shocked  at  this 
want  of  respect  toward  her  mother,  and  he  undertook  to 
lecture  her. 

"  I  wonder,  Louise,  if  you  have  a  shadow  of  respect  for 
any  thing  in  this  world  ?  Does  it  not  strike  you  that  it  is 
shameful  to  speak  thus  of  your  mother  ?" 

"  Is  it  now,  really  ?"  mockingly  asked  the  little  fairy. 
"  Can  you  tell  me  now,  my  grave  cousin,  what  ma  has  ever 
done  to  inspire  me  with  respect  ?  She  has  tormented  and 
managed  me,  until  I  should  have  been  perfectly  crushed, 


66 

if  nature  had  not  fortunately  made  me  of  very  elastic  ma- 
terials." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  to  speak  thus  before  me,  Louise  ?" 

"  Why,  pray  ?  Will  you  go  with  a  shocked  face,  and  re- 
port my  naughtiness  at  head-quarters  ?" 

"  Not  that.  But  then  you  know  a  rebellious  daughter  will 
not  make  the  best  wife,  in  all  probability,  and  as  I  intend  you 
to  stand  in  that  relation  to  me  some  of  these  days,  I  should 
not  encourage  such  a  spirit  in  you." 

Louise  assumed  an  expression  of  comical  astonishment,  as 
she  slowly  repeated : 

"  You  intend  !  Magnificent,  truly  !  When  did  you  leave 
Turkey,  most  imperial  sultan  ?  Will  your  highness  be  so 
good  as  to  inform  me  when  I  may  expect  the  distinguished 
honor  of  becoming  your  wife  ?  A  sort  of  good  little  sheep, 
as  Miss  Bremer  says." 

"  Nonsense,  Louise ;  you  know  very  well  that  an  under- 
standing to  that  effect  has  long  existed  between  us,  and  you 
are  nearly  old  enough  to  fulfill  your  pledge." 

"  Pledge  ?  What  pledge  can  a  child  make,  Victor  ?  I 
am  only  sixteen  now,  and  my  memory  never  runs  back 
further  than  two  years;  even  that  seems  an  age,  and  the 
promise  you  allude  to  must  be  quite  antediluvian — washed 
out  by  the  sea  of  tears  shed  over  my  lessons  since  it  was 
made.  Pray  don't  make  such  an  antiquity  of  yourself  as  to 
go  back  to  the  days  when  that  folly  was  enacted." 

Victor  gazed  on  her  with  reproachful  eyes.  "  I  understand 
you,  Louise,  quite  as  well  as  you  comprehend  yourself.  You 
are  half  in  love  with  Malcolm — I  gathered  that  from  your 


67 

letter  to  Adele  ;  you  think  he  is  rich,  and  you  came  hither 
to  flirt  with,  if  possible  to  win,  him.  I  warn  you  in  time,  that 
such  a  game  will  not  succeed ;  Malcolm  plays  the  lover  to 
my  sister." 

"  To  Adele  ?"  she  quietly  asked. 

"  No  ;  but  to  Pauline ;  and  if  she  has  the  power  to  win 
him  when  Adele  is  near,  you  may  be  sure  you  have  no 
chance." 

"  Pooh  !  don't  be  jealous,  Victor.  I  have  not  the  least 
idea  of  running  a  tilt  against  the  cold  proud  heart  of  Mr. 
Malcolm.  Let  us  be  friends,  for  you  know,  after  all,  I  like 
you  better  than  any  one  in  the  world.  I  perceive  that  ma 
has  got  through  with  her  greetings,  and  I  will  skip  up  stairs 
and  pay  my  compliments  in  rather  a  different  style,  I  fancy." 

She  darted  away  and  was  half  way  up  the  staircase  before 
Victor  could  gain  the  lower  piazza.  She  paused,  shook  her 
finger  at  him,  and  with  a  radiant  smile,  said, 

"  If  you  would  run  a  life-race  with  me,  you  must  be  more 
agile  in  your  movements." 

The  next  instant  she  was  in  the  midst  of  the  group  above, 
and  her  greetings  would  have  been  almost  boisterous  if  any 
thing  so  graceful  and  childlike  could  have  been  thus  re- 
garded. Like  a  bright-winged  bird,  she  flitted  from  one  to 
another,  casting  from  her  own  gay  spirit  a  brief  sunbeam  on 
all  save  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  drew  herself  up  with  an  expression  of  haughty 
surprise,  and  said,  in  grandly  tragic  tones, 

"  This  violation  of  propriety,  Louise,  after  all  I  said  to  you 
on  the  boat !" 


68  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  Ob,  ma,  I  can't  be  pompous  wben  I  am  glad  to  see  my 
friends,"  replied  tbe  reckless  romp,  secure  of  impunity  wbile 
beneatb  tbe  roof  of  her  indulgent  uncle. 

"  Pompous !  no,  but  proper,  Miss  Ruskin.  Excuse  ber, 
Mr.  Malcolm,  ber  gay  spirits  carry  ber  away." 

"  She  carries  ber  own  best  excuse  with  her,  in  ber  joyous 
and  beautiful  youth,"  replied  be,  as  be  bent  bis  expressive 
eyes  on  tbe  charming  face,  upturned  to  bis  with  an  arcb 
coquettish  smile. 

"  I  wonder  bow  jealous  I  can  make  Victor  ?"  thought  the 
little  flirt,  as  she  gave  a  sidelong  glance  to  see  if  he  had  yet 
reached  the  scene  of  action.  "  Ah,  if  it  would  only  reach 
tbe  climax  of  pistols  and  coffee  for  two,  how  delightful  it 
would  be  !  I  should  be  more  talked  of  than  any  girl  in  New 
Orleans,  and  sucb  a  belle  !" 

Just  then  Victor  appeared,  and  bis  eye  singled  ber  out 
immediately ;  but  be  looked  provokiugly  tranquil.  A  single 
moment  of  reflection  bad  convinced  Victor  that  to  betray 
jealousy  of  Louise  was  not  tbe  way  to  manage  ber — she 
seemed  rather  to  enjoy  it ;  so  he  would  try  the  effect  of 
indifference  to  her  flirtations,  and  see  bow  that  would 
succeed. 

Miss  Harrington  proposed  to  conduct  Mrs.  Ruskin  to 
her  apartment,  and,  calling  to  Louise  to  follow  ber,  that 
lady  moved  away  with  most  dignified  bearing ;  but  her 
daugbter  was  too  busily  engaged  prattling  .to  Malcolm,  to 
think  of  obeying  the  summons.  He  listened  with  amused 
interest  to  the  history  of  ber  adventures  on  tbe  boat,  and 
tbe  piquant  sketches  she  gave  of  her  traveling  companions. 


THE    PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  69 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Malcolm,"  she  suddenly  said,  "one 
old  lady  said  she  knew  you ;  and  what  do  you  think  she  said 
of  you?" 

"  Something  complimentary,  I  hope,"  replied  he,  smiling. 

"  Not  entirely ;  and  that  was  the  best  of  it,  for  she  did 
not  know  that  we  were  friends  of  yours  when  she  spoke  of 
you." 

"  Indeed ;  pray  let  me  hear  this  anonymous  old  lady's 
opinion  of  me.  It  must  have  amused  you  from  your 
smiles." 

"  No,  not  exactly  amusing,  though  I  can  not  help  laughing 
to  think  how  droll  it  was,  that  she  should  have  spoken  of 
you  before  friends  in  such  a  manner.  She  said  shjs  had 
known  you  from  a  boy ;  that  you  were  then  the  most  de- 
mure little  chap  to  be  found  anywhere,  with  more  mischief 
plotting  in  your  head  than  one  would  believe  of  a  child ; 
and  she  moreover  added,  that  she  did  not  believe  you  had 
improved  much  as  a  man." 

A  spot  of  deep  red  glowed  in  the  centre  of  Malcolm's 
usually  colorless  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  with  an  ex- 
pression that  daunted  even  the  reckless  Louise. 

She  quickly  added, 

"  There — I  really  believe  I  have  made  you  angry." 

"  Oh,  no,"  and  he  laughed,  but  a  nicely-tuned  ear  could 
have  detected  no  mirth  in  that  laugh.  "Pray  go  on,  Miss 
Ruskin.  I  am  interested  in  the  description  of  my  un- 
known friend.  One  likes  occasionally  to  hear  a  sketch 
of  themselves  taken  by  a  looker  on.  What  else  have  you 
to  reveal  2" 


70 

"  Only  a  piece  of  advice  given  to  any  young  lady  who 
might  be  captivated  by  your  good  looks  and  winning  man- 
ners. Shall  I  repeat  it  ?" 

"  By  all  means.     I  am  curious  to  hear  it." 

"  Then  here  it  is.  She  said,  '  Let  every  girl  beware  of 
Reginald  Malcolm,  for  he  has  a  will  of  iron  and  a  heart  of 
steel.' " 

"  Ah  !  I  am  sure  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  the  old  lady  for 
her  flattering  estimate  of  myself,  and  I  should  be  glad  to  hear 
her  name." 

"  I  asked  her  that,  ani  she  said  it  was  of  no  consequence ; 
you  would  know  she  had  not  misrepresented  you,  should  you 
chance  to  hear  what  she  had  said." 

"  She  intended  her  words  to  be  repeated  to  me,  then  ?" 

"  Of  course — as  she  said  all  this  to  me." 

"  Louise,"  said  a  soft  voice  close  beside  her,  "  come  with 
me.  How  can  you  be  so  inconsiderate  ?  Do  you  not  see 
that  your  words  inflict  pain  ?" 

"  I  declare  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  the  giddy  girl, 
flying  back  to  Malcolm,  for  Pauline  had  drawn  her  away,  as 
she  spoke. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  told  you  this  nonsense,  Mr.  Malcolm, 
for  my  consiu  thinks  I  have  done  wrong,  and  she  always 
knows  so  much  better  than  I  do.  I  did  not  mean  any 
thing,  I  declare,  and  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  have 
annoyed  you." 

Malcolm  smiled  composedly. 

"  You  have  not  annoyed  me,  Miss  Ruskin,  for  I  really 
place  no  value  on  such  idle  gossip.  I  regret,  Miss  Pauline, 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  71 

that  you  should  think  for  a  moment  that  it  has  any  weight 
with  me.  A  *  heart  of  steel'  is  not  likely  to  be  thus  easily 
moved." 

"ISTo.  But  a  noble  heart  of  flesh  feels  the  sting  of 
even  an  idle  slander,"  she  replied,  as  she  lifted  her  eyes 
to  his.  As  he  caught  the  glance,  he  murmure^,  in  a  low 
tone, 

"  By  one  generous  nature,  at  least,  I  am  not  misjudged, 
and  that  is  as  much  as  any  human  being  need  hope  for." 

Pauline  drew  her  giddy  young  relative  away,  and  as  Louise 
followed  her,  she  mentally  soliloquized, 

"  I  really  believe  the  stupid  man  is  in  love  with  her ;  and 
it  is  clear  that  she  is  with  him.  They  say  he  will  be  a  mil- 
lionaire before  many  years,  and  't  is  a  shame  that  my  rich 
cousin  should  win  him,  while  I —  Heigh  ho !  I  believe  I 
like  Victor  best,  in  spite  of  his  silly  talk,  and  his  foppery ; 
so  it  really  makes  no  difference  to  me,  only  I  should  like  to 
have  a  good  flirtation  with  Mr.  Malcolm,  just  to  torment  my 
true  lover  a  little  before  I  say  the  final  yes,  for  I  know  ma 
means  to  marry  me  off  before  this  winter  is  over,  young  as 
I  am." 

She  then  spoke  aloud  : 

"  I  do  hope,  cousin,  that  you  are  not  going  to  put  me  in 
the  same  room  with  ma." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  arrangement  does  not  suit  you,  Louise, 
but  the  house  is  so  crowded,  we  can  do  no  better  just 
now." 

Louise  pouted.     "  I  declare  that  is  the  way  my  pleasure   I 
is  always  spoiled.     Madam  Stiff  will  lecture  me  half  the  night   \. 


72 

for  my  proceedings  during  the  day,  and  I  shall  have  no  peace. 
Preachers  get  bronchitis  by  speaking  so  much,  and  I  am  sure 
T  can 't  tell  what  keeps  ma  from  having  it.  I  would  n't  care 
much,  if  it  did  not  kill,  and  would  keep  her  at  home  a  little 
more." 

"  I  see,  Louise,  that  you  have  not  improved  much  in  re- 
spect to  your  mother,  in  spite  of  my  lectures  on  the  subject 
when  we  were  last  together,"  said  Pauline,  gravely. 

"  You  may  talk,  cousin  ;  but  if  you  had  to  submit  to  half 
I  endure,  you  would  not  be  half  as  good  as  you  are.  If  ma 
was  only  like  Aunt  Gertrude,  I  should  not  find  it  so  difficult 
to  be  a  saint." 

Pauline  half  smiled  at  the  idea  of  her  own  saintliness,  and 
tapped  at  the  door  of  her  aunt's  room.  The  high-toned  voice 
of  Mrs.  Ruskin  bade  them  enter,  and  while  Louise  divested 
herself  of  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  smoothed  her  redundant 
tresses  before  the  mirror,  her  mother  turned  her  attention 
toward  her  niece.  Mrs.  Ruskin  possessed  a  peculiar  talent 
for  saying  unpleasant  things,  and  after  sharply  examining 
Pauline,  she  remarked, 

"  You  have  not  improved  in  your  good  looks  since  I  saw 
you,  my  dear ;  though  they  do  say  that  the  handsomest  man 
and  the  best  match  in  the  market  just  now,  has  actually  fallen 
in  love  with  you.  Is  it  so,  child  ?" 

This  evident  allusion  to  Malcolm,  was  as  repulsive  to  the 
young  girl  as  any  thing  Mrs.  Ruskin  could  have  contrived  to 
say.  The  deep  romance  of  her  nature,  and  the  depth  of  the 
impression  made  upon  her  heart,  rendered  it  almost  sacrilege 
in  her  estimation  for  the  hollow  outside  world  to  comment 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  73 

on  Malcolm's  preference  for  herself  —  expressing  surprise, 
perhaps,  at  his  want  of  taste  in  preferring  so  plain  and  unpre- 
tending a  person.  A  cloud  caine  over  her  fair  face,  and  a 
reply  arose  to  her  lips,  but  she  repressed  it,  and  Miss  Har- 
rington came  to  her  assistance. 

"  The  idle  world  gossips  a  great  deal  about  affairs  it  really 
knows  nothing  about.  Mr.  Malcolm  came  hither  on  business 
with  my  brother,  and  there  is  no  need  to  impute  other  mo- 
tives to  his  visit." 

"  It  is  not  true,  then,  after  all  ?  Well,  I  thought  it  strange 
that  a  man  who  had  seen  so  much  of  the  world,  and  known 
so  many  elegant  women,  should  select  Pauline  for  his  wife. 
You  are  very  well  in  your  way,  my  dear,"  she  continued, 
apologetically,  as  she  saw  the  expression  of  pain  on  the 
features  of  her  niece,  "  but  then  you  always  knew  you  were 
not  beautiful.  If  it  had  been  Adele  now,  one  would  not  have 
been  so  much  surprised,  for  she  has  charms  enough  to  make 
a  man  commit  any  folly." 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  where  the  folly  would  be  in  select- 
ing either  of  my  nieces,"  retorted  Miss  Harrington.  "  In  my 
opinion,  it  is  they  who  have  the  best  right  to  be  fastidious." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  a  right  they  have  sufficiently  exercised," 
said  the  provoking  widow,  "  for  if  I  mistake  not  they  are 
both  twenty.  Pauline  is  right  to  lay  her  snares  to  cap- 
tivate so  unexceptionable  a  person  as  this  distingue  Mal- 
colm. As  for  Adele,  she  is  lovely  enough  to  attract  for 
several  years  to  come." 

Pauline  had  always  recoiled  from  Mrs.  Ruskin's  matter-of- 
fact  way  of  saying  things,  but  now  she  regarded  her  with 


74 

extreme  disgust,  in  spite  of  her  amiable  efforts  to  excuse  her 
rudeness. 

She  was  glad  to  retreat  from  the  room  when  Louise  was 
ready  to  accompany  her,  and  the  latter  was  quite  pleased  to 
escape  comment  herself,  at  the  expense  of  her  cousin.  Her 
mother,  however,  called  after  her,  and  commanded  her,  under 
pain  of  her  severe  displeasure,  to  bridle  her  tongue,  and  act 
with  lady-like  propriety.  Louise  only  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
made  a  mocking  grimace,  and  skipped  out  of  hearing  as 
soon  as  possible. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

f 

WHILE  affairs  progressed  thus  merrily  at  Wavertree,  a  man 
past  his  first  youth  sat  alone  in  a  luxuriously  appointed  room 
in  the  city  of  New  Orleans.  His  residence  was  situated  in  the 
French  portion  of  the  city,  and  the  front  rooms  faced  a  narrow 
and  nearly  deserted  thoroughfare.  The  windows  on  that  side 
were,  however,  kept  constantly  closed,  and  the  neighbors  were 
scarcely  aware  that  the  house  was  tenanted.  The  apartments 
occupied  by  Mr.  George  Withers  were  in  the  rear  of  the 
building,  and  opened  upon  a  spacious  garden  surrounded  by 
a  high  hedge  of  orange-trees,  whose  unpruned  branches 
formed  a  thick  screen  between  his  domicil  and  the  prying 
eyes  of  those  occupying  the  neighboring  houses.  A  long 
sweep  of  smooth  green  turf  was  kept  carefully  free  from  fallen 
leaves  ;  flowers  were  judiciously  arranged  in  groups,  and  from 
the  depth  of  their  leafy  verdure,  a  statue,  white  and  pure,  oc- 
casionally gleamed. 

Two  rooms  opened  on  this  little  Eden,  and  they  were  deco- 
rated with  a  degree  of  elegance  and  refined  taste  one  would 
scarcely  have  expected  to  find  in  the  residence  of  the  dark, 
hard-looking  man  who  sat  beside  the  window,  robed  in  a 
dressing-gown  of  flowered  cashmere,  girt  to  his  waist  with 
a  silken  cord  with  heavy  tassels.  He  seemed  deeply  absorbed 


76       THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

in  some  memoranda  contained  in  a  small  book  which  he  held 
in  his  hand. 

Mr.  Withers  was  rather  above  medium  height,  with  a 
slender,  wiry  frame,  which  seemed  capable  of  any  amount  of 
endurance.  His  complexion  was  sallow,  and  his  eyes  of  that 
changeless,  rayless  black,  which  seem  to  absorb  all  the  light 
and  emit  none,  until  aroused  to  passion,  when  the  lurid  flash 
wnich  darts  from  them  is  like  the  sharp  electric  flame  that 
consumes  as  it  falls. 

His  cheek-bones  were  prominent,  and  his  nose  aquiline. 
The  mouth  was  full  and  sensual : .  in  its  expression  was  read 
the  love  of  self-indulgence,  and  the  enjoyment  of  the  beauti- 
ful ;  the  retreating  forehead,  denoting  the  absence  of  benevo- 
lence and  conscientiousness,  gave  a  clew  to  the  true  character 
of  the  man  who  had  appropriated  to  himself  this  little  nest 
of  loveliness. 

As  he  muttered  over  the  items  before  him,  a  name  quite 
familiar  to  us  escaped  his  lips  more  than  once ;  finally  he 
placed  the  book  upon  a  table  near  him,  and  glancing  at  an 
ivory  time-piece  elaborately  carved,  he  spoke  half  audibly  : 

"  That  boy  lingers — Malcolm  must  have  written  by  this 
mail,  concerning  the  estate  of  Madame  Roget.  Ah  !  I  only 
wish  that  chance  were  mine.  I  owe  him  a  grudge  that  he 
lets  this  Harrington  have  it  in  preference  to  myself,  and  I  will 
pay  him  for  it  yet.  I  had  his  promise  to  give  me  the  first 
good  bargain,  and  he  has  broken  it.  Beware,  Master  Mal- 
colm, or  you  will  find  yourself  checkmated  by  your  tool  some 
of  these  days.  Only  let  a  good  chance  come  to  me,  and  I 
will  grasp  it,  let  the  results  be  what  they  may.  Here  am  I 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  77 

at  thirty-eight,  still  working,  still  scheming,  without  any  tan- 
gible reward.  Why  is  fortune  so  unjust  to  me,  when  she 
pours  wealth  so  prodigally  into  the  coffers  of  Malcolm  2" 

The  current  of  his  thought  was  interrupted  by  the  cautious 
opening  of  a  small  gate  in  full  view  from  the  spot  on  which 
he  sat,  and  the  look  of  care  and  hardness  seemed  to  vanish ; 
his  face  wore  an  expression  that  was  almost  tender  as  he 
recognized  the  slight  figure  which  came  quietly  in,  and  care- 
fully closed  the  entrance  behind  her.  This  was  a  child  who 
had  seen  twelve  summers  perhaps ;  she  was  clad  in  a  dark 
gray  silk,  with  a  crimson  scarf  tied  around  her  throat,  the 
long  ends  hanging  down  in  front,  and  a  small  hood  of  the 
same  color  upon  her  head. 

She  walked  quietly  and  gravely  forward,  as  if  afraid  of 
disturbing  him  she  came  to  seek.  The  girl  was  not  pretty, 
and  it  was  not  difficult  to  decide  the  relationship  existing 
between  herself  and  the  person  who  awaited  her  coming, 
commenting  in  his  own  mind  on  her  appearance,  and  her 
demure  demeanor.  She  was  very  brown,  and  no  bloom  re- 
lieved the  sallowness  of  her  complexion,  yet  her  features  were 
well  proportioned,  and  her  mouth  and  eyes  most  expressive. 
The  latter  were  large,  dark,  and  of  a  clear  hazel ;  they,  with 
the  open  and  well  defined  brow,  the  delicately  curved  lips, 
were  unlike  those  of  her  father,  and  redeemed  her  face  from 
utter  homeliness. 

The  child  saw  that  she  was  observed,  but  she  did  not 
quicken  her  steps  on  that  account.  With  a  quiet  diffident 
grace  she  came  into  the  room  and  stood  beside  him  who  had 
watched  every  motion,  and  comprehended  what  was  passing 


78 

in  her  young  mind.  Withers  took  the  hand  which  was  not 
extended  to  him,  and  kindly  said, 

"Grace  left  me  in  anger  yesterday.  Is  she  in  a  better 
humor  to-day  ?" 

Then  a  deep  blush  burned  on  the  brown  cheek,  and  she 
quickly  and  earnestly  said, 

"  No,  no,  not  in  anger,  father.  I  could  not  presume  to 
feel  that  against  you.  I  was  only  hurt.  You  refused  me 
what  I  thought  you  could  grant,  and — and — " 

She  paused,  and  seemed  resolutely  to  repress  some  painful 
emotion. 

"And  I  was  harsh.  Yes;  I  was  busy,  and  annoyed,  and 
I  said  what  I  was  sorry  for  afterward.  Forget  it,  child,  and 
I  will  be  more  forbearing  in  future.  But  there  is  one  thing  I 
wish  you  to  understand,  Grace ;  I  am  no  millionaire  ;  so 
do  not  torment  me  by  asking  such  indulgences  as  I  can  not 
afford." 

The  child  glanced  midly  around,  as  if  taking  note  of  the 
costly  fitting  up  of  le  apartment  in  which  they  stood,  and 
she  meekly  replied, 

"  I  know  it  is  wrong  to  tease  you,  but  I  so  much  desire  to 
learn  drawing ;  and  mademoiselle  says  I  have  a  talent  for  it ; 
as  she  would  have  less  trouble  in  teaching  me,  she  offers  to 
give  me  lessons  at  a  lower  price  than  the  rest  of  the  class.  I 
came  to  let  you  know  this ;  I  hope  you  will  not  be  angry 
with  me  for  speaking  of  it  again." 

Her  father  drew  her  toward  him,  and  caressed  her.  It 
was  very  rare  that  he  exhibited  any  fondness  for  her,  and  the 
child  received  these  tokens  of  affection  very  shyly,  as  if  un- 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  79 

certain  that  at  any  moment  she  might  not  unwittingly  give 
offense.  Her  father  at  length  said, 

"  Well,  you  are  a  poor  little  brown  puss,  and  an  accbrn- 
plished  education  is  all  that  can  ever  bring  you  out.  I  sup- 
pose you  must  have  it,  .cost  what  it  will.  You  may  learn  to 
draw,  but  tell  that  French  madame  that  I  choose  to  pay  the 
full  price.  No  one  shall  say  that  my  daughter  owed  a  por- 
tion of  her  education  to  charity.  .  Hold  up  your  head,  child, 
among  the  best,  for  I  intend  to  make  you  rich  yet." 

An  expression  of  intense  happiness  irradiated  the  features 
of  the  girl,  rendering  them  attractive  in  spite  of  their 
homeliness.  The  concluding  words  of  her  father  had  been 
unheeded,  and  she  clasped  him  around  the  neck,  as  she  ex- 
claimed, 

"  I  may  indeed  learn  to  draw  !  Dear,  good  father.  Ma- 
demoiselle says  I  may  become  a  great  painter.  I  have, 
without  instruction,  drawn  several  heads.  One  of  you, 
which  is  so  like  you.  I  drew  it  from  memory,  and,  and — 
here  it  is,  father." 

She  drew  from  the  pocket  of  her  dress  a  small  dingy 
square  of  drawing  board,  on  which  she  had  traced  the  harsh 
outlines  of  her  father's  features ;  she  had  rubbed  them  out 
many  times  before  she  satisfied  herself  that  the  expression 
was  correct ;  and  the  result  of  her  want  of  skill  was,  that  a 
gray-looking  ogre,  with  the  high  nose  and  fierce  eyes  of  Mr. 
Withers,  looked  out  from  the  background.  She  presented 
this  specimen  of  her  talent  with  trembling  eagerness,*  hoping 
it  would  make  a  favorable  impression.  To  her  mortification 
Withers  started  back,  and  exclaimed, 


80  THE  PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  That  like  me  ?  Why,  child,  do  I  seem  such  a  monster 
to  you  ?  Poor  little  Grace,  I  do  not  wonder  that  she  often 
trembles  when  she  comes  near  me,  if  I  resemble  that  black- 
looking  fellow." 

Grace  burst  into  tears  ;  she  sobbed, 

"I — I  thought  it  like.  It  is  not  ugly  to  me,  father. 
Indeed,  indeed  mademoiselle  thought  it  a  good  begin- 
ning." 

"  Pooh  !  nonsense  !  She  only  flattered  you  to  get  another 
pupil.  But  you  may  learn,  if  it  is  only  to  prevent  you  from 
caricaturing  me  in  such  a  manner.  There,  burn  it,  and  say 
no  more  about  it." 

He  made  a  motion  as  if  he  would  take  it  from  her,  and 
throw  it  in  the  fire,  but  she  eagerly  clasped  it  to  her  breast, 
and  pleaded, 

"  Pray  let  me  keep  it  until  I  can  do  better ;  I  like  it,  I  value 
it.  I  will  promise  to  tell  no  one  who  it  is." 

Her  father  half  smiled. 

"  On  those  terms  I  consent." 

Grace,  glad  of  this  permission,  hurriedly  concealed  her 
treasure,  thoroughly  mortified  and  disheartened  at  the  unflat- 
tering comments  it  had  elicited. 

After  a  pause,  Mr.  Withers  asked, 

"Did  Madame  S send  her  bill?" 

The  child  drew  forth  a  neatly-folded  paper,  and  gave  it  to 
him.  He  looked  over  the  various  items,  frowned,  bit  his  lips, 
and  as  he  glanced  at  the  total  he  said, 

"  Madame's  charges  are  extortionate.  You  cost  me  almost 
a  small  fortune  every  year,  young  as  you  are  ;  and  yet  you 


81 

still  ask  to  add  to  the  list  of  your  accomplishments.  It  is  not 
reasonable." 

"  I  will  give  up  music  then,  father,"  said  the  low,  depre- 
cating voice.  "  That  is  not  my  talent.  I  shall  never  become 
a  fine  performer." 

"  Do  n't  provoke  me,  child.  Music  is  of  more  importance 
in  society  than  all  the  drawing  and  languages  a  girl  can 

learn.  You  shall  excel  in  it ;  and  I  shall  tell  Madame  S 

to  double  your  practice,  unless  you  promise  me  that  you  will 
use  every  effort  to  become  a  skillful  performer." 

"  I  will  try  to  please  you,  father,"  was  the  subdued  reply. 

"Really;  well,  I  will  not  withdraw  my  promise' about  the 
drawing  lessons,  since  you  promise  so  fairly." 

The  downcast  face  brightened.     Withers  added, 

"  I  believe  I  can't  stand  this  much  longer.  I  will  take  you 
to  France  next  year,  where  you  can  be  educated  at  a  mere 
tithe  of  the  expense  bestowed  upon  you  here." 

"  To  France !"  and  Grace's  eyes  grew  larger  and  brighter. 
"  How  charming  that  will  be  !  But  will  you  really  take  me, 
father  ?" 

"  If  my  affairs  prosper  as  I  hope  they  will,  I  shall  certainly 
do  so.  But  here  comes  John.  Leave  me  now,  and  tell 
Madame  S I  will  call  and  settle  with  her  to-morrow." 

He  carelessly  held  out  his  hand,  and  the  child  timidly 
touched  it  with  her  own,  before  gliding  quietly  out,  and 
threading  her  way  toward  the  entrance  by  which  she  had 
gained  admission.  Could  that  young  heart  have  been  looked 
into,  there  might  have  been  read  deep  tenderness  repressed — 
the  yearning  desire  to  be  loved,  which  only  the  motherless 


82 

child  can  know  in  all  its  bitterness.  A  tear  stole  silently 
down  her  colorless  cheek,  but  it  was  soon  wiped  away. 
Pride  of  character  gave  her  strength  beyond  her  years,  and 
she  would  not  weep,  though  her  father's  words  had  deeply 

wounded  her.  She  came  back  to  Madame  S 's  school  with 

the  same  composed  reserve  of  character  which  always  dis- 
tinguished her,  and  with  respectful  gravity  delivered  the 
message  with  which  she  was  charged. 

In  the  mean  time  his  messenger  entered  the  apartment  of 
Mr.  Withers,  and  laid  a  package  of  papers  and  letters  before 
him.  He  dismissed  the  boy,  and  then  eagerly  looked  over 
the  letters  :  one  was  speedily  singled  out,  which  he  recognized 
as  coming  from  Malcolm.  Tearing  open  the  envelop,  he 
threw  it  on  the  floor,  and  rapidly  read  the  few  lines  addressed 
to  himself.  They  simply  gave  brief  directions  in  reference  to 
what  was  to  be  done  with  the  inclosed  papers.  Withers 
glanced  over  them,  and  an  expression  of  miserly  greed  came 
upon  his  unattractive  face.  He  vehemently  exclaimed, 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars  !  That  sum  in  my  power  ?  Oh, 
blind  Fortune,  do  you  take  the  guise  of  a  money-fiend  to 
tempt  me  to  evil  2" 

With  absorbing  interest  he  read  the  papers  over.  Inclosed 
was  an  order  for  the  sum  named,  on  one  of  the  wealthiest 
firms  in  New  Orleans  ;  and  a  mortgage  on  the  plantation  of 
Wavertree,  duly  signed  and  witnessed,  to  secure  the  commis- 
sion merchant  in  case  he  should  hesitate  to  advance  so  large 
a  sum  of  money.  With  this  money  Withers  was  imme- 
diately to  close  the  purchase  of  the  estate  offered  at  a  great 
sacrifice  by  M.  Delolme. 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  83 

The  astute  man  of  business  read  and  pondered,  and  his 
rayless  eyes  seemed  to  have  a  deeper  meaning  in  them  than 
ever.  He  again  muttered,  "  Fifty  thousand  dollars  !  It  is  a 
large  sum.  In  a  foreign  land,  one  could  live  like  a  prince  on 
that.  It  is  a  great  chance :  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  have  an- 
other half  so  good.  Malcolm  always  promises  to  advance  my 
interests,  but  he  finds  me  too  useful  to  assist  me  to  become 
independent  of  him.  I  begin  to  feel  that  I  have  played  the 
drudge  too  long,  and  it  is  time  that  I  look  after  my  own 
interests." 

He  again  read  the  letter,  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
room — thinking,  resolving,  planning.  He  courted  temptation  ; 
he  made  no  effort  to  fly  from  it,  and  before  the  morning  had 
half  elapsed,  his  mind  was  quite  fixed  on  the  extensive  fraud 
he  meditated.  He  knew  that  Malcolm  had  implicit  reliance 
on  his  integrity — for  he  had  been  scrupulous  never  to  give 
him  the  slightest  cause  of  suspicion  in  their  numerous  deal- 
ings with  each  other.  It  had  been  necessary  to  establish  this 
confidence,  that  the  power  to  acquire  wealth  by  one  bold 
stroke  should  be  afforded  him.  He  had  waited  and  watched 
for  the  hour  of  fruition,  and  now  it  had  arrived.  Never  again 
could  he  hope  for  so  brilliant  an  opportunity  of  securing  for- 
tune by  one  bold  stroke.  He  thought  not  of  the  ruined  man 
and  his  helpless  family,  hurled  from  their  hospitable  home 
into  the  abyss  of  poverty.  He  laughed  sardonically,  as  he 
said, 

"  By  this  stroke  I  shall  also  serve  Malcolm,  and  save  him 
much  finessing.  He  wishes  for  power  over  the  fate  of  that 
cold  beauty,  the  daughter,  and  what  can  plead  more  power- 


84  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

fully  in  his  favor  than  her  dainty  luxuriousness  reduced  to 
labor  for  her  bread,  or  accept  the  wealth  he  offers  together 
with  his  hand.  Ha !  I  fancy  that  story  will  soon  be  told, 
and  a  new  leaf  in  his  destiny  unfolded.  That  man  has  gr^at 
luck — I  wonder  why  it  should  be  so  ?  Why  Fate  gives  to 
some  men  every  thing,  and  to  others  a  stone  ?" 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  this  was  no  time  to 
moralize.  The  moments  were  passing,  and  he  must,  without 
delay,  call  on  Messrs.  Hall  &  Co.  with  his  vouchers,  and  demand 
the  large  sum  they  were  required  to  advance.  With  great 
care  he  completed  his  toilette,  for  he  was  a  man  extremely 
attentive  to  appearances ;  then  fastening  his  rooms,  he^rem 
out  by  the  private  entrance  through  which  his  daughter  had 
passed.  He  had  to  walk  a  great  distance,  and  his  way  lay 
through  much  of  the  busiest  portion  of  New  Orleans.  He 
received  and  returned  many  friendly  greetings,  for  Withers 
was  a  man  well  known  in  the  speculating  world  which  com- 
prises so  many  acute  intellects  in  every  large  city. 

The  counting-house  of  Messrs.  Hall  &  Co.  was  at  length 
gained,  and  with  an  air  of  confidence  he  succeeded  in  penetra- 
ting into  the  sanctum  of  the  head  of  the  establishment.  This 
was  a  small  dark-looking  room,  in  which  was  a  gray-haired  man, 
somewhat  advanced  in  life,  busily  engaged  in  writing.  This 
was  the  senior  partner  of  the  firm,  and  after  nodding  to 
Withers,  he  completed  the  sentence  he  was  engaged  on, 
before  turning  toward  him.  Then  he  whirled  nervously 
around,  and  said  quickly, 

"  Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you  this  morning,  Mr.  Withers  ?" 

"  A  great  deal,"  was  the  prompt  reply;  "as  these  papers 


85 

will  show  you,"  and  lie  drew  forth  a  letter  from  Mr.  Har- 
rington, which  had  accompanied  that  of  Malcolm.  It 
was  addressed  to  the  merchant,  explaining  the  business  to 
him.  As  Withers  placed  it  before  him,  he  half  smiled,  and 
said, 

"You  do  business  after  my  own  mind,  Mr.  Withers. 
There  is  no  preamble  which  tends  to  nothing,  no  loss  of  time 
in  mere  words." 

Withers  bowed  as  he  replied, 

"  Your  own  promptness  is  so  well  known,  that  I  only  seek 
to  fall  into  the  habit  of  your  mind,  my  dear  sir." 

The  merchant  had  evidently  not  listened  to  him.  '  His  eyes 
were  fastened  on  the  paper  before  him,  and  his  brows  knit  as 
he  read  and  re-read  its  contents.  He  then  laid  it  on  the  desk 
and,  after  a  moment's  thought,  said, 

"  Mr.  Harrington  makes  a  large  demand  on  us,  and  at  short 
notice." 

"  The  security  is  good,"  quietly  responded  Withers,  with  a 
motion  toward  the  mortgage. 

"  Undoubtedly ;  Wavertree  is  a  fine  plantation,  and  the 
owner  of  it  a  man  of  honor,  but  he  already  has  many 
liabilities  against  him.  Mr.  Harrington  is  extravagant, 
and—" 

He  paused,  and  seemed  unwilling  to  utter  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind.  The  heart  of  Withers  began  to  beat 
painfully,  as  the  possibility  presented  itself  that  his  golden 
"visions  might  vanish  before  the  obstinacy  of  this  man.  He 
felt  the  blood  rushing  with  electric  speed  through  his  frame, 
and  the  veins  on  his  broad  forehead  swelled  almost  to  burst- 


86 

ing.  Setting  bis  teeth  firmly,  and  clenching  his  hands,  he 
resolutety  summoned  back  his  calmness.  Only  by  superior 
craft  could  he  accomplish  the  end  he  was  now  fully  resolved 
to  achieve.  When  he  thought  the  opportunity  about  to 
escape  him,  all  his  lingering  scruples  vanished ;  he  must 
secure  this  money — must  appropriate  it  at  all  hazards.  He 
presently  spoke  in  a  quiet,  even-toned  voice. 

"  I  can  assure  you,  Mr.  Hall,  tbat  the  money  will  be  per- 
fectly safe,..  You  are  aware  that  I  am  engaged  in  extensive 
speculations  in  which  others  are  also  deeply  concerned.  I 
can  not  betray  the  exact  nature  of  the  present  one,  but  I  can 
assure  you,  on  the  faith  of  an  experienced  calculator  of 
chances,  that  Mr.  Harrington  will  be  in  a  position  to  refund 
the  money  in  less  than  a  month." 

The  merchant  regarded  him  with  a  penetrating  glance. 

"  Your  judgment  is  usually  considered  excellent  I  know  in 
the  kind  of  business  to  which  you  have  devoted  your  ener- 
gies, Mr.  Withers ;  yet  I  still  hesitate.  We  have  already  a 
considerable  balance  against  Harrington,  and  should  he  fail 
in  this  speculation,  for  such  I  understand  it  to  be  from  your 
words,  he  would  be  inextricably  involved.  Ruin  would  over- 
take a  family  that  has  never  known  a  privation.  We  could 
not  afford  to  suffer  so  large  a  sum  to  lie  idle,  and — you  know 
of  course  what  must  follow." 

"  But  I  tell  you  this  is  as  certain  as  if  I  held  the  proceeds 
in  my  hand.  It  is  only  buying  a  magnificent  estate  at  a 
mere  nominal  value,  and  selling  it  immediately  to  another 
who  will  pay  down  as  much  as  you  are  requested  to  advance. 


87 

Thus  you  see,  the  use  of  the  money  will  only  be  required  for 
a  few  weeks."  'r*\ 

"  If  that  were  certain,"  replied  the  cautious  man  of  busi- 
ness. "  But — pardon  me — an  idea  occurs  to  me.  Is  the 
estate  in  question  the  one  offered  by  Mr.  Delolme  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  may  lay  aside  my  usual  discretion  so  far  as  to 
reply  in  the  affirmative." 

"Are  you,  who  usually  know  every  thing  in  that  line, 
not  aware  that  the  title  to  that  property  is  defective?  and 
that  is  the  true  reason  why  it  is  offered  so  much  below  its 
real  value." 

Withers  smiled  knowingly. 

"Mr.  Harrington  is  fully  informed  on  that  subject.  He 
has  ample  security  from  Madame  Koget  for  a  good  title,  hence 
his  desire  to  purchase  the  estate  in  question." 

This  statement  had  a  visible  effect :  the  face  of  the  mer- 
chant cleared  up,  and  he  at  once  said, 

"  That  materially  alters  the  case,  and  Harrington  seems  as 
fortunate  in  his  maturity  as  he  was  in  his  youth.  I  can 
now  see  my  way  clear,  and  no  longer  hesitate.  But  you 
are  perfectly  certain  that  the  title  will  be  perfected,  Mr. 
Withers  ?" 

"  Perfectly.     It  will  be  done  before  the  money  is  paid." 

"  So  much  the  better.  Harrington  is  a  fine,  noble-hearted 
fellow,  and  I  know  of  no  man  who  more  liberally  uses  his 
good  fortune.  I  will  consult  a  few  moments  with  the  junior 
member  of  the  firm,  and  then  inform  you  of  our  decision. 
You  will  find  the  morning  paper  in  the  next  room.  I  have 
not  yet  found  time  to  glance  at  any  thing  in  it,  except 


88 

the  state  of  the  market.  We  have  an  unusual  press  of  busi- 
ness just  now,  and  I  am  employed  until  late  in  the  afternoon." 

Withers  bowed,  and  retired  to  the  apartment  occupied  by 
the  clerks,  one  of  whom  summoned  the  junior  partner  to  a 
conference  with  the  chief  of  this  little  world  in  itself.  A 
bland  smile,  and  a  courteous  bow  greeted  him  from  the  junior 
as  he  passed  him  on  his  way  to  the  inner  shrine  of  Mammon  ; 
and  Withers  knew  that  from  him  he  had  not  much  opposi- 
tion to  fear.  He  was  not  the  financiering  partner,  and  seldom 
ventured  to  oppose  the  fiat  of  his  senior. 

Withers  took  the  morning  paper  which  was  offered  him 
by  one  of  the  young  men,  and  glanced  over  it.  The  recent 
land  sales  and  the  advertisements  for  new  ones  were  carefully 
conned ;  then  he  glanced  over  the  other  items.  By  some 
chance  his  eyes  were  directed  toward  the  dark  lines  that 
usually  surround  the  column  of  deaths.  He  rarely  glanced 
at  them,  for  they  reminded  him  of  a  disagreeable  necessity 
there  must  be  at  some  future  day,  for  relinquishing  all  the 
enjoyments  of  existence,  and  appearing  where  an  account 
would  be  required  of  the  talent  committed  to  his  charge. 
But  a  name  fascinated  his  eye  to  the  page.  The  announce- 
ment ran  thus — 

"  Died,  suddenly,  on  her  plantation  on  Bayou  Lafourche. 
Madame  Annette  JRoget,  relict  of  the  late  Pierre  Roget." 

For  an  instant  the  heart  of  the  reader  ceased  to  throb,  and 
he  seemed  suffocating.  With  a  furtive  glance  around  to  see 
if  his  emotion  was  observed,  he  arose,  and  crushed  the  paper 
into  his  pocket. 

A  few   moments   afterward   he  was  summoned  into  the 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  89 

sanctum,  and  by  the  time  he  entered  it,  his  inscrutable  face 
had  resumed  its  usual  expression.  The  elder  partner  said, 

"We  have  decided  to  make  the  required  advance,  Mr. 
Withers.  Is  it  imperative  that  the  money  shall  be  paid 
over  to-day  ?" 

"  My  orders  are  positive  to  close  the  trade  immediately, 
and  I  have  an  appointment  this  afternoon  to  meet  the  lawyer 
of  M.  Delolme,  and  make  a  final  settlement." 

"In  that  case,  be  kind  enough  to  wait  a  few  moments,  and 
I  will  send  one  of  the  clerks  round  to  the  bank  with  you." 

With  an  unquiet  heart,  Withers  sat  down  while  Mr.  Hall 
drew  the  order  for  the  sum  he  so  ardently  coveted.  He 
turned  once,  and  laconically  said, 

"  In  gold,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Certainly — gold  will  be  most  convenient." 

The  order  was  completed,  and  handed  to  him ;  with  stifled 
exultation  he  received  it,  and  his  eyes  gloated  on  each  sepa- 
rate word  as  they  ran  over  them.  He  felt  his  form  dilating 
with  a  consciousness  of  power.  A  few  more  hours,  and  all 
this  would  be  his. 

He  bade  adieu  to  Mr.  Hall  and,  accompanied  by  the  clerk, 
left  the  house.  Together  they  entered  the  bank — the  order 
was  carefully  examined,  found  genuine,  and  duly  honored. 
There  was  no  delay  in  counting  the  money,  for  it  was  already 
put  up  in  bags  of  five  thousand  dollars  each,  and  ten  of  these 
were  soon  transferred  to  him. 

A  cab  was  called,  and  loaded  with  the  precious  deposit; 
Mr.  Withers  then  jumped  in  and  gave  the  direction  to  his 
retired  abode. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE  cab  was  driven  to  the  front  entrance,  where  the  boy 
who  acted  as  his  messenger  was  lounging  on  the  sidewalk. 
Assisted  by  him,  the  bags  of  coin  were  safely  transferred  to 
the  sitting-room  of  Withers.  As  he  resumed  his  reins,  after 
receiving  his  fare,  the  cabman  said, 

"  I  guess  there  's  a  fortin'  in  them  ere  bags  ?" 

"  Not  a  very  large  one — silver  weighs  heavy,"  replied 
Withers.  "  But,  small  as  the  sum  is,  I  shall  pay  it  away  this 
afternoon,  for  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  keep  money  about  me 
in  a  city  like  this." 

The  man  nodded,  but  looked  as  if  he  had  his  own  opinion 
on  that  subject.  He  drove  on  a  few  paces,  then  stopped  and 
looked  back,>.to  see  if  Withers  had  disappeared.  He  had 
gone  in,  and  the  door  was  closed.  The  cabman  arose  from 
his  seat  and  took  a  deliberate  survey  of  the  house  and  its  sur- 
roundings. He  muttered, 

"  Silver,  indeed  !  Guess  I  knows  better  'n  that.  I  knows  how 
gold  is  did  up  in  them  ere  banks,  and  there  was  a  cool  fifty 
thousand  shiners  in  them  bags.  It 's  a  lonesome  place,  and 
something  might  be  done  there  without  the  neighbors  being 
any  the  wiser  for  it.  It 's  worth  thinking  of,  any  way.  You  '11 
pay  it  away  old  file  will  you,  afore  night  ?  I  know  what  that 's 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  91 

worth.  Maybe  you  '11  part  with  it  afore  day,  but  not  with 
your  own  consent,  that 's  certain." 

Thus  half  soliloquizing,  he  drove  slowly  away  absorbed  in 
his  scheme  of  plunder,  as  deeply  as  was  the  villian  of  a  higher 
grade,  who  placed  the  money  upon  his  table,  dismissed  the 
boy,  and  composedly  sat  down  before  it  to  calculate  all  the 
chances  in  favor  of  his  escape  with  his  booty.  With  the 
skill  of  a  cool  head  he  argued  in  his  own  mind  the  two  sides 
of  the  question  merely  as  a  matter  of  policy — conscience  and 
justice  had  no  voice  in  the  decision. 

Should  he  abscond  with  his  prize,  and,  under  a  feigned 
name,  enjoy  all  the  pleasures  it  could  purchase  ?  or  should  he 
devote  ten  more  years  to  the  honest  acquisition  of  a  fortune, 
which,  in  that  time,  would  probably  exceed  the  sum  before 
him  ?  Ay,  if  fortune  smiled  on  him.  If? — there  was  the 
doubt.  Toward  him  the  favors  of  the  blind  goddess  had 
fluctuated,  and  what  he  gained  in  one  successful  hit,  was 
often  swept  away  in  his  next  venture.  His  calling  was  but  a 
more  exciting  species  of  gambling,  in  which  he  could  not 
always  control  the  chances.  Finally,  the  choice  seemed  so 
nearly  balanced,  that  in  the  true  spirit  of  the  gambler,  he  re- 
solved to  leave  it  to  the  chances  of  the  dice.  He  drew  forth 
a  box,  and  after  shaking  them  furiously,  he  threw  them  on 
the  table.  "  I  will  take  three  throws,"  he  muttered,  "  and  if 
they  go  over  thirty-eight,  my  own  age,  I  take  the  present 
chance  and  leave  my  fatherland  forever."  The  word  father- 
land caused  a  sneer  to  stamp  itself  upon  his  features,  and  it 
was  with  this  expression  that  he  stood  where  a  streak  of 
sunshine  fell  through  the  half-closed  window-blind  upon 


92  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

him,  revealing  all  the  ugliness  of  his  brown,  iron-looking 
face. 

"  Eighteen,  by  Jupiter  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  The  evil  demon 
has  the  ascendancy  just  now,  I  am  sure.  Let  me  try  again." 

Again  the  dice  rattles  upon  the  wood. 

"  Ace,  four,"  he  muttered  discontentedly.  "  Hem  !  the  good 
angel,  I  suppose,  is  taking  his  turn  now,  and  of  course  he 
gives  me  the  lowest  mark  on  the  dice.  It  has  always  been 
my  luck." 

He  rattled  the  pieces  of  ivory  energetically,  and  after  a 
pause,  during  which  he  grew  perceptibly  paler,  he  threw 
them  with  a  hand  tremulous  from  anxiety.  He  glared  at 
the  numbers,  as  if  they,  indeed,  revealed  the  decree  of  Fate, 
and  fell  utterly  unnerved  upon  his  seat. 

Yes — if  upon  that  throw  hung  honor,  integrity,  and  the 
welfare  of  others,  he  had  indeed  lost,  for  seventeen  made  the 
number  greater  than  the  one  he  had  named  as  the  maximum. 
A  cold  perspiration  bedewed  his  brow,  and  for  a  few  seconds 
a  confused  whirl  was  in  his  brain.  His  self-possession  was 
however  speedily  restored  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  outer 
door. 

He  hurriedly  threw  his  cloak  over  the  table  to  conceal  the 
bags  of  treasure,  and  went  with  slow  steps  to  admit  the  im- 
patient applicant,  who  was  again  making  the  house  resound 
with  his  sonorous  rappings. 

"  How  often  have  I  told  you,  Bondy,  never  to  come  to  this 
entrance  ?"  Withers  peevishly  inquired,  as  he  recognized  the 
person  who  entered.  "  Can  you  not  let  yourself  in  at  the 
garden-gate,  without  all  this  uproar  2" 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  93 

"  Maybe  I  could,  if  I  was  a  witch  or  a  spirit,"  was  the 
response,  made  in  a  sharp  voice  which  proceeded  from  a 
man  near  his  own  size,  with  a  shrewd  Jewish  physiog- 
nomy. He  was  elaborately  dressed,  and  had  the  air  of  a 
third-rate  man  of  fashion.  "  The  deuce !  Do  you  expect 
a  fellow  to  creep  through  the  key-hole?  for  the  gate  was 
securely  fastened." 

"I  had  forgotten  I  went  out  by  that  way  myself  this 
morning,  and  took  the  key  with  me.  On  my  return,  I  en- 
tered by  this  door.  Excuse  me — you  interrupted  me  in  a 
deep  calculation,  and  I  was  annoyed." 

"  0, 1  never  expect  manners  from  a  bear,  and  you  can  be 
the  best  representative  of  one  that  I  have  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  meet,"  carelessly  responded  the  young  man,  as  he 
entered  the  apartment  occupied  by  Withers,  and  threw  him- 
self upon  a  seat. 

"You  are  disposed  to  be  complimentary,"  said  Withers, 
with  sarcastic  emphasis. 

"  Not  at  all — I  always  pique  myself  on  speaking  the  plain 
truth." 

"  That  your  manners  and  appearance  may  be  in  keeping, 
I  suppose,"  retorted  the  other,  for  he  knew  that  his  visitor 
was  peculiarly  sensitive  on  the  score  of  his  want  of  beauty. 
Bondy  only  scowled  in  reply,  and  sat  impatiently  tapping  his 
boot  with  a  fancy  cane  he  held  in  his  hand. 

After  a  pause  Withers  said, 

"  It  may  seem  inhospitable,  but  I  am  extremely  busy  to-day, 
Bondy,  and  if  you  have  only  made  a  friendly  call,  I  must  dis- 
pense with  the  civility  till  some  other  time." 


94  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  Polite,"  sneered  the  Jew ;  "  but  suppose  I  came  on  busi- 
ness." 

"  In  that  case,  be  so  good  as  to  state  it  as  briefly  as  pos- 
sible." 

"  I  am  quite  willing ;  for  you  can  not  be  more  anxious 
to  get  rid  of  me  than  I  am  to  be  gone.  I  came  to  know 
if  the  purchase  of  Delolme's  place  has  been  completed  by 
you  ?" 

"  Of  what  interest  can  that  be  to  you  ?"  inquired  Withers, 
fixing  his  most  sinister  gaze  upon  him. 

"  Only  this ;  I  thought  your  employers  would  not  thank 
you  for  your  precipitation,  as  Madame  Roget  is  dead, 
and  I  know  the  next  heir  is  ready  to  dispute  the  title.  I 
came  to  give  you  this  information,  thinking  it  might  be  use- 
ful to  you ;  but  it  is  small  thanks  one  need  expect  from 
you  for  any  service." 

"  My  dear  Bondy,  I  am  really  obliged  to  you  for  the  in- 
tended kindness,"  said  Withers,  with  assumed  frankness. 
"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  just  seen  the  announcement 
of  her  death  in  the  morning  paper,  and  it  was  that  which 
made  me  so  out  of  humor,  when  you  came  in.  The  old  lady 
could  not  have  been  guilty  of  a  more  inconvenient  or  ill-bred 
thing  than  to  die  just  at  this  crisis ;  she  has  spoiled  one  of 
the  best  trades  I  ever  made,  and  I  lose  commissions  that 
would  have  made  me  much  better  off  than  I  now  am." 

"  What  will  you  then  do  with  the  large  sum  you  drew 
from  the  bank  this  morning  ?"  asked  Bondy,  carelessly. 

Withers  started  and  knit  his  heavy  brows.  He  slowly  re- 
peated, 


95 

"  The  money — true — that  is  another  inconvenience  ;  but 
how  did  you  know  I  had  it  ?" 

"Oh,  I  saw  you  on  the  way  to  the  bank;  I  know  the 
clerk  who  was  with  you,  and  when  I  accidentally  met  him 
afterward,  he  told  me  that  you  had  drawn  fifty  thousand 
dollars  to  pay  Delolme.  I  had  seen  the  announcement  of 
Madame  Roget's  death,  and  I  carae  to  warn  you." 

"  Thank  you.  I  appreciate  your  motive  ;  but  what  I  am 
to  do  with  this  large  sum  is  a  puzzle.  Business  hours  at  the 
banks  will  be  over  before  I  could  deposit  it  again,  and  by  the 
time  I  could  return  to  Messrs.  Hall  &  Co.,  the  principals  will 
both  have  left  for  their  own  homes." 

"  True  ;  but  you  could  have  the  money  placed  in  their  safe 
for  security." 

"  I  could ;  but  then  the  clerks  only  would  be  responsible 
for  it.  Safes  have  proved  very  unsafe  in  many  instances,  and 
this  is  a  large  sum,  a  great  temptation." 

He  uttered  the  last  words  with  such  emphasis  that  Bondy 
looked  at  him  curiously.  He  abruptly  asked, 

"  Is  it  one  to  you  ?" 

Withers  winced,  for  this  was  a  home-thrust.  He  passion- 
ately said,  while  his  dark  face  flushed  deeply, 

"  Did  you  come  hither  to  insult  me  ?  Am  I  a  man  to  sac- 
rifice my  integrity  for  even  a  sum  like  this  ?  I,  who  have  had 
thousands  to  pass  through  my  hands,  and  never  yet  had  an 
insinuation  breathed  against  my  honesty." 

"  Pooh  !  you  take  it  too  seriously.  I  intended  no  insult," 
replied  Bondy,  coolly.  "  If  you  take  it  up  thus,  I  shall  begin 


96  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

to  think  that  you  really  meditate  some  treachery  with  regard 
to  this  money." 

"  I  care  very  little  what  you  think,"  responded  Withers, 
angrily,  and  if  you  can  say  nothing  more  agreeable  to  me,  I 
wish  you  would  leave  me  to  complete  the  business  I  before 
told  you  presses  heavily  upon  me.  But  for  services  rendered 
me  in  the  past,  I  should  know  how  to  resent  the  insinuations 
you  have  had  the  hardihood  to  make." 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  I  only  said  what  I  did  to  vex  you. 
Anger  makes  your  hard,  brown  face  look  so  infernal,  that 
you  are  even  uglier  than  I  am.  Ha !  ha !  you  are  quite  a 
picture  now,  and  would  figure  finely  among  the  goblins  in  a 
certain  place  you  wot  of." 

Withers  made  a  furious  gesture  toward  him,  but  Bondy 
arose,  bowed  to  him  with  an  air  of  mock  respect,  and  left  the 
room,  closing  the  door  as  he  went  out. 

Drawing  a  long  breath,  the  angry  man  stepped  quickly 
after  him,  and  was  about  to  turn  the  key  in  the  lock, 
when  it  was  suddenly  opened  again,  and  Bondy's  face  came 
almost  in  contact  with  his  own,  as  he  thrust  his  head 
forward, 

"Just  looked  in;  hope  I  don't  intrude,"  he  said,  twisting 
his  face  into  a  ridiculous  imitation  of  Paul  Pry.  "  I  forgot  to 
mention  the  chief  business  that  brought  me  here.  A  gentle- 
man of  my  acquaintance  has  seen  this  place  once  when  he 
called  to  visit  you  on  business,  and  he  wishes  to  know  if  you 
will  give  it  up  on  any  terms  ?" 

"  The  place  is  not  mine.  I  have  only  a  lease,  which  I 
would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of.  Rooms  nearer  the  centre  of 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.       97 

business  would  suit  me  better,  and  I  snail  be  very  glad  to  let 
him  have  it.     Who  wants  it  ?" 

"  A  young  man  who  is  about  to  be  married.  He  thinks  a 
romantic  solitude,  like  this,  will  be  pleasant  for  his  honey- 
moon ;  and  he  is  quite  willing  to  pay  you  for  any  inconve- 
nience he  may  put  you  to." 

Withers  affected  to  hesitate  a  moment,  though  nothing 
could  have  better  suited  his  plans.  He  asked, 

"Will  he  pay  cash?" 

"  Certainly,  and  to-day,  if  required." 

"  That  will  suit  me  very  well,  as  I  have  a  bill  to  make  up 
by  to-morrow,  which  I  intended  to  borrow  money  to  meet. 
This  will  obviate  that  necessity,  and  for  a  few  weeks  I  can 
take  boarding  at  a  hotel,  until  I  can  look  around,  and  find 
lodgings  for  myself." 

"  Good !  It  is  a  bargain,  then.  How  much,  and  when  must 
he  pay  ?" 

Withers  glanced  around  at  the  luxurious  adornments,  and 
made  a  rapid  calculation  in  his  mind.  He  then  said, 

"  A  thousand  dollars  paid  at  six  o'clock  this  evening,  and 
your  friend  can  have  possession  to-morrow." 

"You  shall  have  it  at  that  hour;  good-morning."  And 
this  time  he  actually  went.  Withers  threw  him  the  key  of 
the  garden  gate,  and  requested  him  to  let  himself  out.  As 
Bondy  slowly  wended  his  way  through  the  shaded  walks,  he 
pondered  on  the  recent  interview;  and  to  his  suspicious  nature 
the  conduct  of  Withers  seemed  very  strange.  He  muttered, 

"I  do  believe  something  is  wrong  about  that  money. 
Withers  must  feel  very  confident  of  his  means  of  defense  to 

5 


98  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

keep  so  large  a  sum  as  that  in  so  retired  a  place.  I  do  n't 
believe  lie  means  to  do  the  right  thing  by  the  owner,  but  I  '11 
think  twice  before  I  agree  to  that  cabman's  proposal." 

The  gate  closed  on  him,  and  Withers,  who  had  eargerly 
watched  every  step  he  made,  rushed  out  and  rapidly  threaded 
his  way  to  the  portal  which  he  securely  locked,  and  carried 
away  the  key  with  him.  On  his  return,  he  opened  a  closet 
concealed  in  the  wall,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  search,  drew 
forth  an  empty  chest  strongly  made,  into  which  he  hurriedly 
packed  the  gold,  and  fastened  it  up.  He  then  looked  over 
the  newspaper  which  he  had  abstracted  in  the  morning,  to 
see  what  ships  would  leave  port  that  day. 

One  bound  for  France  he  wished  to  find,  and  there  was 
exactly  what  suited  him.  The  bark  Euterpe  would  leave 
certainly  on  the  following  morning  at  six  o'clock  for  Havre. 
His  dinner-hour  was  approaching,  and  he  concealed  the  box 
in  the  closet  and  impatiently  awaited  the  return  of  the  boy 
who  usually  brought  him  his  meals  from  a  neighboring  res- 
taurant. 

In  the  mean  time  he  wrote  two  notes — one  was  to  the  law- 
yer of  M.  Delolme  declining  the  proposed  purchase,  since  the 
only  person  who"  could  have  made  a  legal  title  to  the  property 

was  dead.  The  other  was  to  Madame  S requesting  her 

to  permit  his  daughter  to  come  to  him  at  four  o'clock  and 
bring  with  her  a  change  of  clothing,  and  such  other  articles 
as  she  might  need  in  a  visit  to  a  friend  in  the  country,  to 
whose  residence  he  intended  taking  her  the  same  afternoon. 

They  were  scarcely  finished,  when  the  boy  came  in  with  a 
recherche  little  dinner,  which  Withers  ordered  in  person  every 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  99 

morning,  for  he  was  a  connoisseur  in  good  living,  lean  and 
sinewy  as  lie  looked.  While  he  discussed  the  deliciously 
flavored  viands,  he  despatched  the  boy  on  his  errands,  telling 

him  to  call  first  at  Madame  S 's  and  as  he  returned  from 

the  lawyer's  office  to  stop  again  at  the  academy,  and  bring 
his  daughter  and  her  packages  with  him. 

Withers  was  more  abstemious  than  usual  in  the  indulgence 
of  his  appetite,  for  he  wished  to  keep  his  brain  clear  for  what 
remained  before  him. 

The  interval  between  the  departure  of  the  lad,  and  the 
arrival  of  his  daughter  was  spent  in  looking  over  the  account 
of  all  his  worldly  possessions.  There  was  strong  evidence 
among  them  to  prove  that  the  step  he  was  about  to  take  was 
not  the  effect  of  sudden  temptation — that  it  had  long  been 
prepared  for,  although  vaguely,  and  as  a  possible  rather  than 
a  probable  event.  All  the  property  he  had  realized  amounted 
to  nearly  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  it  was  invested  in  foreign 
securities  in  the  assumed  name  of  Charles  Hamilton.  Thus 
he  was  prepared  at  any  moment,  when  a  temptation  of  suffi- 
cient magnitude  was  offered,  to  avail  himself  of  his  perfect 
readiness  to  abscond  at  any  moment. 

And  this  man,  stained  with  guilt,  as  he  was  about  to  be- 
come, had  a  child,  young  and  pure,  who  was  to  become  the 
companion  of  his  flight.  He  loved  her,  too,  in  his  own  way, 
though  there  was  little  tenderness  in  his  affection  for  her.  It 
was  merely  the  instinctive  attachment  which  nature  implants 
in  the  breast  of  the  meanest  of  her  offspring  for  their  own. 
Grace  also  recalled  to  her  father  the  one  green  spot  upon 
his  hard  pathway,  in  which  self-interest  had  not  been  his 


100 

guiding  motive.  Withers  had  never  been  romantic,  but  by 
some  strange  chance,  he  had  really  fallen  in  love  with  an  in- 
teresting girl  who  possessed  no  fortune,  and  had  married  her. 
She  did  not  live  long  enough  after  their  union  for  him  to  grow 
weary  of  her,  aud  the  clear  eyes  and  gentle  manners  of  his 
daughter,  often  recalled  the  image  of  her  who  had  been  much 
fairer  and  more  attractive  than  her  descendant. 

The  boy  at  length  returned,  accompanied  by  Grace,  who 
was  dressed  exactly  as  on  her  visit  in  the  early  part  of  the 
day.  Her  face  wore  a  brighter  expression  in  the  anticipation 
of  some  change  in  her  monotonous  life,  and  her  greeting  to 
her  father  was  less  timid  than  usual. 

"  Shall  we  indeed  go  into  the  country,  dear  father  ?  and 
see  the  beautiful  flowers,  and  bright  sunshine  away  from 
crowded  brick  walls  ?  Ah  that  will  indeed  be  charming !" 
and  she  gayly  clapped  her  hands. 

Mr.  Withers  was  surprised  at  this  outburst,  so  different 
from  her  usual  quietness.  He  laughed  as  he  said, 

u  0,  you  will  have  a  thousand  wonders  to  relate  to  Madame 

S when  you  return.  But  pray  moderate  your  raptures 

a  little,  and  assist  me  in  packing  my  trunk." 

"  You  will  take  a  trunk  then,  father  ?  We  must  be  going 
to  make  quite  a  visit." 

"  Only  a  small  trunk,  child.  Put  in  a  change  of  clothing 
for  me,  and  then  lay  your  own  things  above  them,  in  good 
order." 

Quiet  and  orderly  in  her  habits,  Grace  had  soon  completed 
her  task,  and  by  that  time  a  carriage,  for  which  the  boy  had 
been  despatched,  stood  before  the  door.  The  chest  of  treas- 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      101 

ure  was  transferred  to  it — the  trunk  fastened  on,  and,  giving 
the  lad-  strict  orders  to  remain  at  home  until  his  return,  Mr. 
Withers  and  his  daughter  were  rapidly  driven  to  a  ship  land- 
ing at  the  lower  end  of  the  city. 

The  Euterpe  had  already  received  her  freight,  and  hauled 
out  in  the  stream,  ready  to  leave  on  the  following  morning. 
The  water  was  calm,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  father  and 
daughter  stood  in  safety  upon  her  deck.  The  captain,  a 
bluff  Scotchman,  received  them  politely,  and  to  him  Mr. 
"Withers  briefly  communicated  his  desire  to  engage  a  passage 
on  his  vessel  for  himself  and  the  child  that  accompanied  him. 

The  old  man  looked  kindly  at  Grace,  as  he  asked, 

"  And  will  the  lassie  have  no  woman  with  her  2" 

"  No — she  is  not  dainty,  and  can  take  care  of  herself.  Her 
mother  is  dead." 

"Poor  bairn — more's  the  pity  for  her.  Well  sir,  we  have 
but  one  passenger,  and  that  happens  to  be  a  lady  who  has 
taken  the  whole  of  the  cabin.  If  she  will  let  your  daughter 
have  a  berth,  I  can  accommodate  you." 

While  he  spoke,  a  delicate,  middle-aged  woman,  dressed  in 
deep  mourning,  emerged  from  the  cabin.  Her  eye  at  once 
fell  on  Grace,  and  she  seemed  attracted  by  the  young  face, 
and  shy  manner,  for  she  faintly  smiled  on  her  as  she  passed 
the  group.  The  captain  arrested  her  steps  without  ceremony, 
and  said, 

"  Madame,  this  gentleman  wishes  to  take  passage  with  m3 
for  himself  and  this  little  girl :  but  I  was  just  telling  him  that 
unless  you  would  give  the  child  a  berth  in  your  cabin,  there 
ia  no  chance  to  accommodate  him." 


102  T'HE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

The  lady  paused,  but  she  scarcely  listened  to  the  words  of 
Mr.  Withers,  who  made  an  elaborate  speech,  setting  forth  his 
earnest  desire  to  obtain  a  passage  on  the  Euterpe,  arid  the 
great  obligation  he  should  feel  under  to  her,  if  she  would  give 
a  nook  in  her  cabin  to  his  daughter. 

The  lady  gently  took  the  hand  of  the  frightened  and  con- 
fused girl,  and  said, 

"  Your  daughter,  sir,  looks  like  a  child  of  refined  manners, 
and  amiable  temper,  and  her  companionship  will  be  a  wel- 
come relief  to  the  tedium  of  a  sea  voyage,  which  I  had  not 
hoped  for.  I  love  children,  and  can  interest  myself  with 
them,  when  the  society  of  their  elders  would  jar  upon  my 
feelings.  I  accept  her  willingly  as  the  companion  of  iny 
voyage." 

Grace  clung  to  the  hand  which  lightly  and  softly  held 
hers,  but  with  a  touch  so  friendly — -so  mother-like,  that  she 
instinctively  felt  she  had  gained  a  friend,  in  the  sorrowful- 
looking  being  beside  her. 

Mr.  Withers  would  have  thanked  her,  but  she  impatiently 
waved  her  hand,  saying, 

"  Enough,  sir ;  we  understand  each  other.  From  this  mo- 
ment, I  consider  your  daughter  under  my  charge." 

She  drew  Grace  unresistingly  toward  her,  and  together 
they  entered  the  cabin. 

On  their  way  to  the  ship,  Mr.  Withers  had  explained  to 
his  daughter  that  they  would  not  visit  the  country,  but  em- 
bark at  once  for  Europe.  He  toy.  her  the  tale  he  had  already 
prepared  for  her  ;  that  he  had  inherited  a  fortune  from  a  dis- 
tant relative  in  England  ;  which  he  would  visit  that  country 


103 

and  claim,  so  soon  as  he  had  placed  her  at  school  in  France, 
where  he  intended  her  to  complete  her  education.  The  will 
of  the  testator  provided  that  he  should  assume  his  name,  and 
as  Charles  Hamilton  he  should  register  himself  upon  the 
ship's  book. 

As  he  disliked  to  answer  questions,  he  forbade  Grace,  un- 
der penalty  of  his  severe  displeasure,  to  reveal  to  any  one  the 
fact  that  she  had  ever  borne  any  other  name ;  and  as  he 
parted  from  her  he  found  means  to  whisper  a  caution  not  to 
betray  this  vital  secret  to  her  new  friend. 

Having  placed  his  daughter  and  his  gold  in  safety,  Withers 
selected  a  berth,  and  then  left  the  ship,  with  the  assurance  to 
the  captain  that  he  would  be  on  board  by  daylight.  The  fur- 
ther arrangements  he  had  to  make  compelled  him.  to  return 
again  to  the  city. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

WITHERS  regained  his  own  residence  just  at  twilight,  and 
found  the  boy  he  had  left  in  charge  of  the  house,  sleeping 
soundly  on  the  floor  of  his  sitting-room.  He  let  himself  in 
by  the  private  entrance,  and  after  some  effort,  succeeded  in 
arousing  the  young  somnambulist  sufficiently  to  send  him 
away  to  his  mother's  for  the  remainder  of  the  night. 

In  a  few  moments  more  he  expected  Bondy  to  arrive,  and 
after  the  transaction  of  the  business  he  came  on,  he  would 
have  a  few  hours  in  which  to  seek  rest  for  his  harassed  mind 
and  wearied  body.  Now  he  sat  in  the  dim  twilight,  with  his 
head  supported  on  his  hand,  thinking  over  the  past  days  of 
toil  and  drudgery,  and  trying  to  imagine  how  brilliant  would 
be  the  life  of  pleasure  he  intended  to  lead,  in  that  old  world 
he  had  so  long  desired  to  visit. 

But,  spite  of  his  efforts  to  conceal  the  fact  from  himself,  a 
feeling  deeper  than  weariness  fell  with  leaden  power  upon 
him.  He  did  not  regret  leaving  the  spot  so  long  his  home ; 
he  would  have  sneered  had  such  a  thought  occurred  to  him. 
As  he  thus  sat  in  the  dim  room,  all  the  events  in  his  monot- 
onous life  passed  in  review  before  him,  and  he  felt  the  con- 
viction in  his  own  mind  that  he  had  never  yet  really  lived. 
This  existence  of  calculation  and  plodding  business  was  not 
life.  What  then  was  ? 


THE     PLANTER    S     DAUGHTER.  105 

Ah,  how  different  would  be  the  reply  of  each  human  being 
to  that  question.  That  of  Withers  was,  to  enjoy — to  live 
luxuriously — to  gratify  every  caprice — and  then  ?  Beyond 
that,  he  cared  not — his  was  the  creed  of  the  worldly-wise 
man,  who  lives  only  in  the  present,  and  suffers  the  future  to 
take  care  of  itself.  Why  should  he  look  into  that  dim,  dim 
uncertainty  beyond,  so  long  as  he  could  avoid  it  ? 

As  he  thus  sat,  he  must  have  slept,  for  a  vision,  clad  in 
floating  garments,  seemed  to  hover  beside  him,  and  luminous 
rays  appeared  to  emanate  from  the  sweetly-sorrowful  face 
that  bent  toward  him.  Shadowy  fingers  parted  the  hair 
upon  his  brow,  and  their  touch  diffused  a  delicious  sense  of 
repose  throughout  his  aching  brain.  A  low  voice  thrilled 
through  his  soul,  and  the  words  that  came  to  him  were  those 
of  warning  and  entreaty  : 

"  My  beloved,  go  back  upon  your  perilous  path.     Do  not 
this  wrong  thing;  bring  back  our  child  as  your  best  safe- 
guard from  evil.     She  will  protect  you,  if  you  respect  her      1 
innocence ;"  and  as  he  remained  impassive,  a  long  wail  of  woe     j  I 
seemed  breathed  into  the  tones  of  entreaty. 

A  loud  rap  upon  the  window  startled  him,  and  he  aroused 
himself  from  the  light  slumber  that,  for  a  few  brief  moments, 
had  enchained  his  faculties.  The  impression  of  his  dream 
was  still  upon  him,  but  he  cast  it  aside  with  an  impatient 
exclamation,  and  admitted  Bondy. 

"  What !  All  in  the  dark,  and  no  fire,  this  chilly  evening," 
he  exclaimed,  as  he  entered.  "Why,  man,  what  are  you 
dreaming  about  2" 

"  An  angel,  I  believe,"  replied  Withers,  lightly ;  "  for  only 
5* 


106 

a  moment  since  I  could  have  sworn  that  one  was  beside 
ine.  At  the  approach  of  an  evil  spirit,  she  vanished,  of 
course." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  coldly  replied  the  other.  "  But  as  I  am 
the  bearer  of  money  to  you,  I  should  scarcely  be  considered  a 
spirit  of  evil.  Thus,  you  see,  your  desire  to  say  a  rude  thing 
to  me  has  caused  you  to  utter  a  falsehood  almost  in  the  pres- 
ence of  your  angel  visitant." 

"  Nonsense — let  us  to  business  at  once,  for  I  have  no  time 
to  spare.  You  have  brought  the  money  ?" 

"  Certainly — and  this  paper  for  you  to  sign.  Mr.  Somers 
would  have  come  himself,  but  he  had  an  engagement  with  his 
betrothed,  and  made  me  his  agent." 

Withers  lighted  a  lamp,  and  examined  the  paper — he  then 
carefully  counted  over  the  money,  and  after  securing  it  in  his 
pocket-book,  signed  the  agreement,  expressing  the  hope  that 
the  purchaser  would  be  as  well  satisfied  with  his  bargain  as 
he  was. 

"  He  is  more  than  contented,"  said  Bondy.  "  He  is 
charmed  to  be  able  to  secure  so  lovely  a  seclusion  in  the 
heart  of  a  city  like  this.  But  let  us  not  talk  of  him.  What 
have  you  done  with  the  money  for  the  Roget  place  ?  Did 
you  finally  take  my  advice,  and  deposit  it  with  Messrs  Hall, 
until  to-morrow  ?" 

"No — not  with  them,  but  in  quite  as  secure  a  place," 
briefly  responded  Withers. 

"  Ah,  I  see  that  you  do  not  choose  to  answer  me ;  but  I 
only  asked,  that  in  case  you  have  risked  keeping  it  here,  I 
might  offer  to  remain  with  you  to-night." 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  107 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  believe  I  shall  not  need  your  services. 
The  money  is  quite  safe ;  I  do  not  apprehend  any  danger  to 
it ;  and  if  I  did,  I  believe  I  am  quite  competent  to  take  good 
care  of  it  myself." 

"  This  is  a  lonely,  out  of  the  way  place." 

«  Yes — but  I  am  well  armed,  and  a  resolute  man,"  replied 
Withers,  who  took  pleasure  in  baffling  the  evident  desire  of 
Bondy  to  discover  whether  tlie  money  was  really  in  the  house. 
A  suspicion  of  his  motives  never  glanced  athwart  his  mind. 
He  was  too  deeply  absorbed  in  his  own  scheme  of  fraud  to 
think  for  a  moment  that  another  was  canvassing  in  his  own 
mind  the  chances  in  favor  of  his  appropriation  of  the  same 
spoil. 

After  a  little  more  desultory  conversation  Bondy  took  his 
leave,  and  so  soon  as  "Withers  heard  the  garden  door  clang 
behind  him,  he  closed  and  barred  his  shutters,  locked  every 
avenue  of  entrance,  and  went  out  by  the  front  way. 

It  was  quite  dark,  and  he  did  not  see  a  crouching  form 
that  arose  from  the  corner,  and  stealthily  followed  him.  Every 
step  he  took  that  night  was  watched.  He  went  into  a  coffee- 
house where  he  usually  supped,  and  called  for  what  he  wanted. 
He  afterward  smoked  a  segar  leisurely  and  then  took  a 
much  larger  draught  of  brandy  than  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
drinking. 

"Ah,"  imittered  the  spy,  from  his  distant  corner,  "that  is 
to  keep  his  spirits  up ;  I  don't  believe  he  means  to  pay  over 
that  money  honestly,  even  if  he  keeps  it  till  morning,  which 
I  consider  doubtful." 

Withers  lingered,  looking  over  the  evening  papers,  and 


108  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

fancying  the  appearance  of  the  paragraph  which  would  so 
soon  appear,  announcing  his  flight,  and  the  magnitude  of  his 
successful  fraud.  He  could  well  anticipate  the  comments  of 
the  press,  but  this  did  not  cause  him  to  falter  in  his  course. 

Ah !  if  he  could  only  have  been  gifted  with  a  gleam  of 
second-sight,  how  would  his  hair  have  bristled  with  horror  at 
the  announcement  that  those  same  types  would  send  forth  to 
the  world  in  twenty-four  hours  from  that  time. 

He  must  return  to  his  late  home,  yet  there  was  a  dread 
upon  his  soul  at  the  thought  of  the  house  which  had  never 
been  lonely  to  him  before.  His  feelings  were  inexplicable  to 
himself,  and  he  walked  out  in  the  open  air  to  recover  his  self- 
possession. 

Still  that  dark  form  followed  him — tracked  him  back  to  his 
own  door,  and  saw  him  enter.  As  the  door  closed  on  him, 
Bondy  stood  erect,  and  said  in  muttered  tones, 

"  Now,  I  am  certain  the  money  is  there.  He  always  goes 
to  some  place  of  amusement  at  night,  and  he  does  not  change 
his  habit  without  good  cause.  He  would  not  tell  me.  O 
no — lie  had  to  be  mysterious,  but  I  found  it  out  for  myself, 
and  I  '11  make  a  good  use  of  my  knowledge,  too.  I  rather 
think  that  the  '  wedded  love's  first  home'  of  Mr.  Somers  is 
likely  to  prove  a  bad  bargain." 

While  thus  muttering,  he  swiftly  passed  along  the  street 
until  he  came  to  a  narrow  alley  that  opened  from  it.  A  few 
paces  within,  he  was  joined  by  another  man,  who  eagerly 
inquired — 

"  Have  you  found  out  whether  he  has  it  there  ?" 

"  Yes — I  am  now  satisfied  that  he  has  not  removed  it  from 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  109 

his  own  house.  We  must  lose  no  time,  for  I  believe  that  he 
intends  to  leave  under  cover  of  night,  and  appropriate  it  him- 
self. His  looks  were  very  strange,  when  I  questioned  him 
about  it." 

"  I  am  quite  ready,  but  it  will  not  be  safe  to  make  an  at- 
tempt upon  the  house  for  several  hours  yet." 

"  I  have  secured  the  means  of  entering.  I  long  ago  ob- 
tained the  impression  of  the  key  to  the  front  entrance,  and 
had  a  duplicate  made,  for  he  has  papers  I  have  long  been 
anxious  to  get.  It  will  be  easy  to  enter,  for  Withers  I  know 
always  takes  out  the  keys  at  night,  and  carries  them  into  his 
own  room." 

"  A  stupid  precaution,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  It  is  one  that  we  shall  profit  by,  at  all  events ;"  and  the 
two  confederates  walked  away. 

On  the  following  morning  a  scence  of  confusion  and  ex- 
citement was  witnessed  in  the  usually  quiet  garden  that  sur- 
rounded the  abode  of  Withers.  A  crowd  of  eager  and 
alarmed  faces  filled  its  shaded  walks,  and  those  who  penetrated 
to  the  interior  of  the  house  shuddered  and  grew  pale  as  they 
looked  upon  the  pallid  and  blood-stained  figure,  which  with 
an  awful  mockery  of  death,  the  murderers  had  placed  erect 
in  a  large  arm  chair,  with  his  feet  stretched  out  before  him. 

There  had  evidently  been  a  violent  struggle,  for  blood  was 
sprinkled  on  every  thing,  and  a  large  pool  had  flowed  from 
the  numerous  wounds  of  the  dead  man  upon  the  flowery 
groundwork  of  the  carpet.  The  closet  was  broken  open,  and 
its  contents  scattered  on  the  floor.  In  the  adjoining  bed-room 
the  struggle  had  evidently  commenced;  there  every  thing 


110  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

was  in  the  wildest  confusion.  Every  article  of  value  had 
been  removed ;  even  the  rings  and  the  watch  of  the  murdered 
man.  His  pocket-book,  rifled  of  its  contents,  was  found  upon 
the  floor,  and  all  his  papers  had  disappeared. 

A  more  thorough  and  systematic  robbery  had  never  been 
perpetrated,  nor  could  one  have  been  more  quietly  done. 
The  neighbors  had  heard  no  alarm ;  that,  however,  was  not 
remarkable,  as  the  house  was  isolated  from  others,  and  em- 
bowered in  shrubbery.  The  errand-boy  was  the  first  to  dis- 
cover the  deed.  On  arriving  at  the  house  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  morning,  as  was  his  usual  custom,  he  found  the  door 
imperfectly  closed.  Alarmed  at  this,  he  entered,  and  beheld 
a  scene  that  nearly  deprived  him  of  his  senses.  His  frantic 
cries  alarmed  the  people  in  the  -street,  and  soon  the  rumor  of 
what  had  occurred  filled  the  house  and  yard  with  eager  and 
appalled  spectators. 

That  evening  the  papers  contained  the  following  para- 
graph : 

"  A  most  daring  murder  and  robbery  was  perpetrated  last 
evening  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  in  a  lonely  house  on 

street.  A  large  sum  of  money  had  been  drawn  from 

the  bank  by  John  Withers,  Esq.,  a  gentleman  well  known  in 
the  speculating  world,  as  a  man  of  enterprise  and  integrity. 
The  trade  which  it  was  designed  to  close  was  unhappily  post- 
poned, and  the  deceased  imprudently  ventured  to  keep  the 
money  in  his  house.  It  was  entered  by  burglars,  Mr. 
Withers  assassinated,  and  every  thing  of  value  removed. 
We  learn  that  there  is  no  clew  to  the  perpetrators  of  the 
deed." 


Ill 

Such  was  the  announcement,  and  much  excitement  it 
occasioned  in  certain  circles  where  Withers  was  known. 
The  police  made  every  effort  to  trace -the  murderers,  but 
without  success;  and  a  full  account  of  the  untoward  event 
was  despatched  to  Mr.  Harrington  by  Messrs.  Hall.  A 
friend  of  Malcolm's  also  sent  to  him,  by  the  same  mail, 
the  particulars  of  the  murder  and  robbery  of  his  agent. 

And  where  was  Grace  during  all  this  ferment  ? 

Finding  that  his  passenger  did  not  come  on  board  at  the 
appointed  time,  the  captain  of  the  Euterpe  concluded  that 
unexpected  business  had  detained  him,  and  he  would  follow 
the  vessel  to  the  Balize,  on  the  first  steamer.  The  tow-boat 
which  was  to  take  the  ship  to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  came 
alongside  at  the  appointed  hour,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
wait  for  a  single  passenger,  even  if  his  daughter  was  on 
board. 

Grace  had  been  awake  until  a  late  hour  of  the  previous 
night,  talking  with  her  new  friend,  and  she  slept  late  on  the 
following  morning.  When  she  awoke,  they  were  many 
miles  below  the  city,  and  her  distress  at  the  non-appearance 
of  her  father,  was  soothed  by  the  assurance  that  he  would 
certainly  overtake  the  vessel  before  she  left  the  Mississippi. 
Mrs.  Dalton  endeavored  to  interest  her,  to  prevent  her 
mind  from  continually  reverting  to  her  father's  inexplic- 
able absence,  and  she  found  so  much  feeling  and  intelligence 
in  this  quiet  and  plain  child,  that  her  interest  in  her 
deepened  every  moment. 

Mrs.  Dalton  was  a  widow,  and  childless,  and  her  heart 

opened  to  the  motherless  one  with  a  warm  sympathy,  which 
8 


112  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

those  who  have  suffered  themselves  know  how  to  give. 
Grace  watched  the  approach  of  every  steamer  with  intense 
solicitude,  for  the  slow  progress  of  the  ship  enabled  many  to 
pass  them,  and  her  face  grew  more  sorrowful  as  each  one 
went  on  without  hailing. 

The  ship  reached  the  Balize,  and  was  ready  to  go  on  her 
outward  voyage,  and  still  the  missing  passenger  lingered. 
The  captain  was  in  a  dilemma  about  the  child.  He  came 
into  the  cabin,  holding  a  newspaper  from  New  Orleans  in  his 
hand,  which  he  had  just  obtained.  On  the  outer  page  two 
words,  in  large  letters,  were  conspicuous,  "  Awful  Tragedy," 
and  then  came  the  details  of  the  recent  murder. 

As  he  commenced  explaining  to  Grace  that  she  must  re- 
main at  the  Balize,  or  go  on  the  voyage  without  her  father, 
her  eye  fell  on  those  words.  She  glanced  at  the  name  of  the 
street  on  which  the  house  occupied  by  the  murdered  man  was 
situated,  snatched  the  paper,  read  the  terrible  details,  and  fell 
senseless  on  the  floor. 

When  she  recovered  consciousness  she  was  delirious,  and 
many  days  elapsed  before  she  was  in  a  condition  to  give  a 
connected  account  of  the  cause  of  her  emotion.  The  captain 
wished  to  leave  her  to  be  taken  care  of  at  the  Balize ;  but 
this  Mrs.  Dalton  opposed,  and  she  insisted  that  her  father  had 
been  detained,  but  would  follow  his  daughter  in  the  next 
ship  bound  for  the  same  port.  She  herself  would  undertake 
the  care  of  the  young  girl,  and,  in  the  event  of  her  father's 
non-appearance,  Grace  should  become  to  her  as  her  own 
daughter. 

Thus   released   from    all    responsibility  as  to  her  future 


113 

fate,  the  captain  consented,  and  they  set  sail  with  the  sick 
girl. 

Her  recovery  was  very  slow,  and  on  being  questioned  by 
Mrs.  Dalton,  Grace  at  once  revealed  the  heavy  blow  which 
had  caused  her  such  severe  suffering. 

At  her  request,  the  paper  was  sought  for,  and  she  pointed 
out  to  her  protectress  the  paragraph  which  had  so  nearly 
proved  fatal  to  her  existence. 

"  But,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  "  the  name  of  the  per- 
son who  met  this  sad  fate  was  Withers,  and  yours  is  registered 
as  Hamilton." 

Grace  then  repeated  to  her  the  story  concerning  the  change 
in  his  name,  fabricated  by  her  father,  and  Mrs.  Dalton  saw 
no  reason  to  doubt  its  truth.  She  folded  the  orphan  to  her 
heart,  and  told  her  that  in  herself  she  had  gained  a  mother, 
and  from  that  hour  she  must  consider  her  in  the  light  of  a 
parent.  Mrs.  Dalton  then  went  on  to  inform  her  that  she 
was  very  independent  in  circumstances,  but  not  wealthy. 

"  My  father  was  not  poor,  ma  'am,"  replied  Grace,  with 
simplicity,  "  and  from  something  he  said  the  evening  we  came 
down  to  the  ship,  I  think  the  box  he  brought  on  board  con- 
tained his  money,  for  he  intended  living  in  Franc£  hereafter." 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  love,  for  my  fortune  is  only  a  life 
annuity  in  the  English  funds,  and  it  would  not  enable  me  to 
provide  for  you  in  a  suitable  manner  in  case  of  my  death. 
Have  you  no  relatives,  Grace,  who  can  interfere  with  my 
claims  upon  you  ?" 

"  None,  madame.  My  father  never  spoke  of  any,  and  my 
mother  died  before  I  can  remember  her." 


114  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  Then  let  me  take  lier  place  in  your  affections,  my  dear 
girl.  I  promise  to  cherish  you  as  my  own.  Call  me  mother, 
Grace,  and  let  my  name  replace  the  lately  assumed  one  of 
Hamilton." 

Grace  wept  some  sweet  tears  upon  the  bosom  of  her  newly- 
found  friend,  and  promised  the  love  and  obedience  of  a 
daughter  to  her,  and  thus  the  compact  was  sealed. 

On  their  arrival  in  France,  Mrs.  Dalton  placed  her  adopted 
daughter  in  a  seminary  in  the  vicinity  of  Paris,  and  boarded 
in  the  house  with  her.  She  led  an  isolated  life  in  a  country 
in  which  she  had  no  friends,  and  of  whose  language  she  had 
but  an  imperfect  knowledge;  but  this  seclusion  suited  her. 
She  had  endured  sorrows  which  destroyed  all  taste  for  society, 
and  she  was  passionately  fond  of  reading.  The  society  of  her 
young  protege  gave  all  the  variety  to  her  life  that  she  felt 
the  need  of,  and  her  benevolence  was  interested  in  the  prog- 
ress and  happiness  of  her  adopted  daughter. 

On  opening  the  box,  Mrs.  Dalton  was  surprised  to  find 
how  large  a  sum  it  contained.  With  the  aid  of  the  English 
banker  who  managed  her  own  business,  it  was  securely  in- 
vested for  the  benefit  of  Grace  Withers  Hamilton  Dalton; 
for  it  was  thus  she  wished  her  young  companion  to  designate 
herself,  that  if  by  chance  any  member  of  her  family,  or  any 
friend  of  her  father,  should  happen  to  meet  with  her,  they 
might  be  enabled  to  recognize  her  from  the  united  names 
she  bore. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE  day  on  which  Victor  Harrington  completed  his  twenty- 
third  year  dawned  brilliantly.  The  gay  party  assembled 
around  the  breakfast  table  offered  tbeir  congratulations,  and 
wished  him  every  happiness  and  success  in  the  future.  Victor 
received  them  with  elated  spirits,  and  glanced  toward  his 
hard-looking  mother-in-law  elect,  to  see  what  effect  his  popu- 
larity had  on  her. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  only  curled  her  lip,  and  said, 

"Wishes  cost  nothing,  nephew.  For  my  part,  I  might 
wish  you  to  be  the  fortunate  possessor  of  Aladdin's  lamp,  or 
the  purse  of  Fortunatus,  but  I  should  only  prove  my  sincerity 
by  helping  you  to  their  attainment,  if  there  was  any  chance 
of  getting  them." 

The  well-wishers  felt  these  words  as  a  sneer  toward  them- 
selves, but  the  most  of  them  knew  Mrs.  Ruskin,  and  they  said 
to  each  other, 

"  It  is  only  her  way.  It  is  useless  to  pay  attention  to  a 
person  whose  life  is  made  up  of  ill-temper  and  sarcasm." 

Victor  was  elated  by  the  auspicious  commencement  of  the 
day,  and  he  felt  irritated  at  his  aunt's  remark.  With  height- 
ened color  he  replied, 

"  When  I  ask  services  at  the  hands  of  my  friends,  madame, 
aiid  they  are  refused,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  pronounce 


116  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

their  kindly  expressed  wishes  for  my  success  in  life,  insincere. 
Thank  heaven !  that  is  a  test  my  father's  son  is  not  likely 
soon  to  put  them  to." 

Mrs.  Ruskiu  smiled  skeptically. 

"  Who  knows  ?  Mutual  dependence  is  as  much  a  law  of 
society  as  any  I  know.  It  is  nonsense  to  boast  of  never 
asking  a  favor.  I  can  prove  to  you,  if  I  choose,  that  you  are 
ready  now  to  ask  of  me  that  which  I  alone  have  the  authority 
to  bestow." 

Victor  understood  her,  and  he  glanced  toward  Louise, 
who  blushed  slightly,  and  made  a  little  grimace,  while  she 
raised  her  finger  to  him  as  a  warning  not  to  reply.  They 
soon  after  left  the  table,  and  Malcolm  sought  the  nook  in  the 
library,  in  which  he  knew  Pauline  often  ensconced  herself, 
that,  in  the  charms  of  her  conversation,  he  might  beguile  his 
uneasiness  at  the  non-arrival  of  letters  from  Withers.  He 
had  confidently  expected  to  receive,  by  the  mail  of  that 
morning,  the  assurance  that  the  purchase  of  the  Delolme 
estate  had  been  completed,  and  on  the  following  one  he  de- 
signed setting  out  for  the  residence  of  Madame  Roget,  to  se- 
cure the  promised  title.  He  knew  the  old  lady  to  be  infirm, 
and  he  considered  it  important  to  have  the  business  completed 
as  soon  as  possible. 

But  this  morning  his  fair  friend  did  not  make  her  appear- 
ance, and  with  an  impatient  exclamation  he  threw  down  the 
book  in  which  he  made  an  effort  to  interest  himself,  and 
strolled  toward  Mr.  Harrington's  table.  He  was  about  to  ad- 
dress him,  when  an  exclamation  from  that  gentleman  arrested 
him. 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      117 

"  What  is  it  ?"  inquired  Malcolm,  listlessly,  as  lie  extended 
his  hand  toward  the  paper  Mr.  Harrington  held  in  his  trem- 
bling grasp.  But  he  had  no  sooner  glanced  at  the  paragraph 
to  which  his  attention  was  directed  than  he  too  showed  evi- 
dences of  excitement. 

"  Madame  Roget  dead  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  That  is  a  mis- 
fortune I  had  not  anticipated.  There  went  a  cool  hundred 
thousand  from  you,  my  dear  sir.  But  do  not  become  ex- 
cited ;  it  is  only  missing  a  fine  speculation." 

"  But — but  the  money  ?  The  large  sum  I  authorized  your 
agent  to  draw  from  my  commission  merchant,"  said  Mr.  Har- 
rington, nervously.  "  It  may  have  been  paid  for  an  estate 
that  I  could  not  hold  as  my  own." 

Malcolm  glanced  at  the  paper  again,  and  he  coolly  re- 
plied, 

"  The  date  of  this  paper  is  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on 
which  the  money  was  to  be  paid.  Withers  is  extremely 
cautious,  and  he  would  certainly  have  heard  of  Madame  Bo- 
get's  death  before  the  trade  was  completed.  Make  yourself 
quite  easy,  Mr.  Harrington,  I  will  guaranty  the  safety  of  your 
funds." 

"  But  this  Withers  ?     Is  he  perfectly  trustworthy." 

"  Perfectly.  I  have  transacted  business  with  him  for  many 
years,  and  I  have  always  found  him  the  soul  of  punctuality" 
and  honor.  Feel  assured,  my  dear  sir,  that  your  money  is 
in  the  custody  of  a  shrewd  man,  who  will  keep  it  perfectly 
safe." 

"I  trust  so — for — "  he  paused,  unwilling  to  let  another 
see  how  uneasy  he  really  was,  for  he  best  knew  the  import- 


118  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

ance  of  this  speculation  to  his  prosperity.  By  its  means,  he 
had  hoped  to  clear  his  estate  from  debt,  and  leave  a  hand- 
some surplus  besides,  with  which  to  endow  his  son  on  his 
marriage.  Now,  that  hope  was  at  an  end,  and  he  could  not 
repress  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasiness  as  to  the  fate  of  his 
thousands.  He  said, 

"  I  think  you  expected  to  hear  from  the  city  this  morn- 
ing r 

Malcolm  bowed. 

"  And  you  did  not  ?  The  newspapers  came,  you  see  :  so 
it  was  not  the  fault  of  the  mail." 

"  I  blame  no  one  for  the  failure,"  replied  Malcolm,  slightly 
annoyed.  "  I  can  veiy  well  imagine  that  Withers  was  so 
pressed  with  business,  he  had  not  time  to  notify  me  of  the 
escape  we  made.  A  packet  is  due  to-night,  and  I  shall  hear 
from  him  with  certainty  then." 

"  I  trust  so,"  and  Mr.  Harrington  sunk  back  in  his  chair 
in  a  most  unpleasant  reverie.  Malcolm  walked  away,  and 
buried  himself  behind  the  folds  of  a  heavy  curtain  that 
hung  over  one  of  the  window  seats,  there  to  ponder  over 
the  thoughts  which  the  unexpected  death  of  Madame  Ro- 
get  elicited.  How  shocked  would  his  unsuspicious  host 
have  been,  could  he  have  read  what  was  passing  in  his 
mind. 

"Suppose  Withers  should  play  me  false  at  last?"  he 
mused.  "  It  would  play  the  deuce  with  my  plans,  and  nearly 
ruin  Mr.  Harrington.  I  should  be  minus  several  thousands, 
but  not  enough  to  affect  my  fortunes  seriously.  It  is  strange 
he  did  not  write,  though  I  would  not  say  so  to  my  host. 


119 

Suppose  the  fifty  thousand  gone,  and  Withers  eloped !  It 
would  save  me  a  world  of  finesse.  Harrington  quite  in  my 
power,  I  need  not  then  throw  aside  the  mask.  I  could  play 
the  disinterested  friend — could  offer  such  assistance  as  would 
stave  off  ruin,  while  I  held  him  by  the  double  ties  of  honor 
and  gratitude.  I  do  believe  I  could  forgive  Withers  if  such 
were  the  issue.  My  losses  wrould  be  more  than  repaid,  could 
they  only  result  in  winning  the  girl  I  best  love." 

He  paused,  and  then  with  a  half  smile,  repeated, 

"  Best  love- — by  heaven !  I  wish  I  knew  which  one  that  is. 
Both  these  bewitching  sisters  enthrall  me.  Adele  merely  by 
her  beauty ;  Pauline  by  her  tact,  her  feeling,  her  unspeakable 
charm.  What  is  it  that  breathes  into  my  hard  soul  a  feeling 
of  tenderness  almost  feminine,  when  I  am  near  this  girl  ?" 

Unconsciously  he  had  spoken  the  few  last  words  aloud,  and 
a  voice  that  seemed  to  come  from  the  clouds  said, 

"I  declare,  Mr.  Malcolm  is  so  fond  of  talking  that  he 
speaks  aloud  to  himself." 

He  started,  and  looked  out ;  the  great  tree  rustled  its 
branches  against  the  window,  on  the  wide  seat  of  which  he 
had  thrown  himself.  There,  amid  the  arching  boughs  of  the 
oak,  sat  Louise,  comfortably  placed  on  one  of  the  seats  we 
have  before  described,  striking  her  foot  against  a  neighboring 
limb,  to  give  her  perch  a  swinging  motion. 

"  Hebe  must  have  stooped  from  Olympus  to  commune  with 
me,  favored  mortal  that  I  am,"  said  Malcolm,  bowing  with 
mock  reverence  to  the  romp,  who  looked  quite  as  fresh  and 
charming  as  the  handmaiden  of  the  gods  herself.  She  gayly 
said, 


120  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

"And  what  do  you  think  induced  my  divinityship  to  con- 
descend to  talk  with  a  mere  mortal  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  can  not  guess,  unless  it  was  to  honor  the 
humblest  of  her  slaves." 

"  A  better  one  than  that.  To  gratify  my  curiosity  on  a 
subject  that  puzzles  me." 

"A  divinity  puzzled  by  mere  mortal  affairs!  That  is  be- 
yond belief,  fair  goddess.  I  am  persuaded  that  your  own 
sagacity  can  enable  you  to  penetrate  whatever  is  of  interest 
to  yourself." 

"  Ay  —  what  interests  myself,  but  not  what  concerns 
others." 

"  What  then,  would  you  learn  ?" 

"  I  am  dying  to  find  out  which  one  of  my  cousins  it  is  you 
prefer.  Do  you  know  it  is  the  gossip  of  the  whole  house, 
and  the  majority  give  you  to  Pauline,  because  you  pay  her 
the  most  attention?  But  I  have  watched  you  when  your  eye 
fell  on  Adele,  and  I  set  my  single  opinion  against  that  of  the 
rest.  Am  I  not  right  ?  Now  tell  me,  like  a  good  soul,  be- 
cause I  have  a  bet  depending  on  it." 

There  was  a  cool  effrontery  in  this,  which  only  Louise 
Ruskin  could  have  assumed. 

Malcolm  haughtily  answered, 

"  Really,  Miss  Ruskin,  you  have  taken  an  infinite  deal  of 
trouble  about  a  matter  that,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  only  concerns 
myself.  Is  there  any  absolute  necessity  that  I  should  be  in 
love  with  either  of  your  cousins  ?" 

"  O,  certainly  not.     Only  you  know  that  every  unmarried 


121 

man  that  comes  hither  thrice,  is  supposed  to  be  attracted  by 
either  one  or  the  other  of  the  daughters." 

"  I  believe  the  world  to  which  1  belong,  comprehends  very 
well  that  business,  and  not  love-making,  brings  me  to  Waver- 
tree.  Your  world  may  judge  me  as  it  pleases.  I  can  afford 
to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  comments  to  which  I  am  indifferent." 

His  cheek  was  slightly  flushed,  and  there  was  a  tone  of 
vexation  in  his  voice  in  spite  of  his  professed  indifference. 
Louise  saw  this,  and  replied  with  a  mocking  laugh, 

"So  the  calculating,  moneyed  world,  has  a  contempt  for 
the  butterfly  portion  of  humanity.  I  thought  Mr.  Malcolm 
was  ambitious  of  belonging  to  both  classes,  and  considered 
himself  successful  in  his  aim  too.  Come,  be  truthful  now, 
and  confess  that  Solomon's  lilies  are,  after  all,  more  attractive 
to  your  fastidious  taste,  than  those  who  are  born  to  toil  and 
spin." 

"  So  long  as  Miss  Louise  Ruskin  is  classed  among  them,  I 
must,  of  course,  reply  '  yes'  to  such  a  query,"  said  Malcolm, 
with  a  low  bow  of  mock  respect.  Even  Louise  was  a  little 
daunted  at  this,  but  she  immediately  recovered  her  self-pos- 
session and  coquettishly  replied, 

**  Thank  you.  I  shall  begin  to  say  to  the  gossips,  Withhold 
your  judgment.  It  is  neither  wealth  or  beauty  that  always 
wins  the  day.  Sprightliness  and  gayety  may  possess  a  charm 
superior  to  either.  Adieu,  Mr.  Malcolm ;  after  that  last  speech 
I  am  satisfied  that  neither  of  my  cousins  is  in  the  ascendant," 
and  with  a  roguish  glance  Louise  fluttered  down  from  her 
perch  in  a  manner  peculiar  to  herself. 

Light  of  form,  and  firm  of  foot,  she  sprang  from  branch  to 
6 


122 

branch  in  the  old  tree  with  as  great  celerity  as  though  she 
had  been  running  down  a  staircase.  Malcolm  arose  and  fol- 
lowed her  agile  motions  with  admiration,  in  spite  of  the  an- 
noyance she  had  inflicted  on  him.  Ere  he  withdrew  his  head 
from  the  window,  he  saw  the  frowning  face  of  Victor  emerge 
from  the  shelter  of  the  shrubbery,  and  he  approached  his 
giddy  lady  love  with  an  expression  ominous  of  one  of  their 
numerous  quarrels. 

They  disappeared  behind  the  hedge,  and  the  schemer 
threw  himself  upon  his  seat,  and  gave  himself  anew  to  his 
own  thoughts. 

So,  subtle  as  he  believed  himself,  he  had  permitted  his  true 
feelings  to  be  fathomed  even  by  one  so  young  and  thought- 
less as  this  girl.  Then  he  tried  to  console  himself  with  the 
thought  that  the  outside  world  must  have  its  gossip,  and  why 
should  he  regard  it?  It  had  not  been  his  wont  to  do  so,  but 
now  so  much  was  at  stake — so  uncertain  even  to  himself  was 
the  game  he  was  playing,  that  he  wished  to  shroud  his  move- 
ments from  observation  as  much  as  possible ;  as  if  the  lookers 
on  are  not  always  the  keenest  judges,  and  the  coldest  calcu- 
lators of  success,  in  any  game  in  which  the  feelings  are  at  all 
interested. 

While  Malcolm  thus  mused,  Louise  made  her  peace  with 
her  lover,  and  returned  to  her  mother's  room. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  raised  her  cold  eyes  to  her  flushed  features, 
as  she  entered,  and  with  some  appearance  of  interest  in- 
quired, 

"  Why  have  you  been  weeping,  Louise  ?  Did  my  com- 
mission end  in  such  a  manner  as  to  cause  tears  ?" 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      123 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  it  did ;  for  I  have  just  had  such  a  scene 
with  Victor  as  I  would  not  go  through  again  for  any  con- 
sideration." 

"  Victor  is  presumptuous,  and  troublesome,"  replied  the 
elder  lady,  with  asperity.  "  Tell  me  what  occurred  to  make 
him  angry  ?" 

"  Only  this ;  in  obedience  to  your  commands,  I  went  in 
search  of  Mr.  Malcolm.  He  was  in  the  library  with  my 
uncle,  and  without  attracting  his  notice  I  could  not  join  him 
there.  After  a  while  he  placed  himself  in  the  window  near- 
est the  great  tree,  so  I  mounted  in  that,  and  asked  him  what 
you  wish  to  know." 

"You  asked  him,  child?  What  do  you  mean  by  that? 
Did  you  put  so  brusque  a  question  to  him  as  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am — you  know  I  never  have  patience  to  take  a 
round-about  way  to  any  thing,  so  I  asked  him  plainly  what  I 
wished  to  find  out." 

"  Stupid !  have  you  no  tact,  no  finesse,  that  you  would 
approach  a  man  like  Malcolm  in  that  way  ?  And  what  did 
he  answer  ?" 

"Just  as  I  might  have  expected.  He  defended  himself 
from  the  charge  of  loving  either  of  my  cousins  by  a  mock- 
ingly expressed  admiration  for  myself." 

"  Then — really — how  do  you  know  he  was  not  in  earnest, 
Louise  ?  You  are  pretty,  and  piquant ;  just  the  sort  of  person 
to  attract  a  grave,  sober  man  like  Malcolm.  Suppose  he 
should  be  in  earnest  ?" 

"  Then  I  can  only  say  so  much  the  worse  for  him.  But  I 
know  that  he  only  took  that  means  of  defending  himself  from 


124  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

a  charge  he  felt  to  be  serious.  You  may  not  think  my 
opinion  worth  much,  mother,  but  Adele  is  the  load-star.  I 
have  seen  that  in  his  eyes  when  they  turned  on  her,  which  I 
have  read  in  Victor's  for  myself — by  that  same  token  I  know 
that  it  means  love." 

"  If  it  is  Adele,  there  is  no  danger,  for  she  will  never  marry 
him.  Do  n't  be  silly  about  Victor,  Louise,  and  I  believe  I  can 
secure  this  brilliant  destiny  for  you." 

"  I  do  n't  want  it,"  said  Louise,  pettishly.  "  Victor  will  be 
rich  enough,  and  we  like  each  other.  If  any  man  on  earth 
could  make  me  afraid  of  him  it  would  be  this  Malcolm.  I 
declare  when  I  asked  him  that  simple  question  about  my 
cousins,  he  looked  at  me  like  a  tiger,  until  he  recollected 
himself,  and  tried  to  make  me  believe  he  had  not  thought  of 
being  in  love  with  either  of  them." 

"  You  are  but  a  child,  Louise,  and  reason  like  one.  I  do 
not  consider  you  bound  by  any  promise  you  have  made  to 
Victor ;  for  I  have  never  yet  been  formally  required  to  give 
my  consent,  and  without  that  the  contract  is  void." 

Louise  looked  at  her  mother  doubtfully — she  slowly  said, 

"To  listen  to  you,  ma'am,  one  would  suppose  that  you 
only  spoke  of  a  contract  for  the  transfer  of  property.  You 
suffered  Victor  and  myself  as  children  to  speak  openly  of 
this  engagement,  and  to  regard  each  other  as  lovers.  How 
then  can  you  now  oppose  what  you  have  so  long  tacitly  sanc- 
tioned ?" 

"When  I  did  that,  I  thought  your  uncle  far  richer  than  I 
now  have  reason  to  believe  he  is.  You  can  bring  no  fortune 
to  your  husband,  for  until  my  death  your  father's  estate  is 


THB  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  125 

bequeathed  to  my  control.  It  is  too  small  to  bear  dismem- 
berment, and  afford  to  the  other  children  the  same  advantages 
you  have  enjoyed.  If  you  marry  Victor,  you  must  come  here 
and  live,  for  I  know  your  uncle  is  not  in  a  position  to  give 
him  a  home  of  his  own,  and  Victor  is  not  the  sort  of  person 
to  make  a  living  for  himself.  Think  how  different  your  life 
would  be,  united  to  a  self-sustained  man  like  Malcolm.  Al- 
ready the  possessor  of  wealth,  which  the  future  will  surely 
increase,  he  could  afford  you  an  elegant  home  in  a  large  city 
where  you  could  become  the  centre  of  a  brilliant  circle.  You 
could  travel — " 

Louise  put  her  hands  over  her  ears,  and  exclaimed, 

"  No  more,  no  more,  mother :  it  is  useless.  I  have  just 
promised  Victor  that  I  will  marry  him  next  month,  if  my 
uncle  wishes  it.  He  saw  me  in  the  tree  talking  to  Mr.  Mal- 
colm, and  he  was  so  jealous  and  angry  I  could  pacify  him  in 
no  other  way.  You  know  you  can  not  refuse  your  consent 
when  my  uncle  asks  it,  so  these  temptations  to  swerve  from 
truth  to  him  I  really  prefer,  need  not  be  offered." 

Mrs.  Ruskin  assumed  her  haughtiest  air. 

"  I  am  not  bound  to  say  yes,  to  every  thing  my  brother 
may  ask ;  especially  when  the  demand  is  for  my  daughter's 
hand,  who  is  yet  too  much  of  a  child  to  be  capable  of  com- 
prehending her  true  interests.  You  shall  not  marry  Victor 
next  month.  It  is  hurrying  matters  too  much,  and  I  can 
easily  convince  your  uncle  that  you  are  yet  too  young  to  be- 
come a  bride,  The  young  gentleman  can  recover  his  good 
humor  at  a  less  price  than  the  sacrifice  of  a  girl  who  might 


126 

become  a  distinguished  belle  if  she  would  use  her  chances 
well." 

With  skill  Mrs.  Ruskin  had  touched  a  cord  that  always 
vibrated  to  her  touch,  for  this  was  the  sole  ambition  of  Louise, 
and  to  its  gratification  she  was  even  capable  of  sacrificing 
her  affection  for  Victor.  Intensely  had  she  desired  to  emu- 
late the  career  of  her  cousin  Adele,  and  she  replied, 

"  Very  well,  ma'am  ;  act  as  you  please — I  only  thought 
you  wished  me  settled  aiid  out  of  Georgiana's  way.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  make  my  peace  with  Victor  at  less  cost  than  this 
early  sacrifice  of  my  girlish  freedom." 

"  Now  you  talk  reasonably,  my  daughter,  I  can  easily  ar- 
range it.  As  to  Georgiana,  she  will  remain  at  school  another 
year." 

Thus  spoke  the  worldly-minded  mother,  unconscious  that 
a  crisis  was  rapidly  approaching,  which  would  give  her  a 
good  pretext  for  breaking  the  engagement  altogether. 


CHAPTER   XL 

IN  the  rear  of  the  mansion  of  Wavertree,  situated  in  a 
grove  of  live  oaks,  was  a  long  building,  the  lower  story  of 
which  was  an  extensive  conservatory,  and  the  upper  one  a 
ball-room.  The  latter  was  lighted  by  an  immense  glass  chan- 
delier which  hung  from  the  arched  roof.  The  white  walls 
were  draped  with  evergreens,  among  which  transparent  paint- 
ings were  placed.  Long  wreaths  of  wild  vines  from  the 
woodland  were  festooned  over-head,  and  colored  lights  peered 
from  their  foliage. 

The  decorations  were  so  contrived  as  to  give  the  room  the 
appearance  of  an  immense  leafy  temple  in  which  sported 
dryads  of  exceeding  loveliness  and  grace.  The  fair  daughters 
of  Louisiana  appeared  to  much  advantage  amid  the  fairy 
scene,  and  a  more  graceful  or  elegant  number  of  young  girls 
could  scarcely  have  been  collected  together  from  any  quarter 
of  the  world. 

The  brilliant  eyes,  luxuriant  hair,  and  willowy  grace  which 
characterizes  the  Creoles,  were  seen  in  perfection,  and  even 
the  matchless  Adele  found  many  among  their  guests  who 
were  not  unworthy  to  stand  on  the  throne  beside  her.  A  fine 
band  from  New  Orleans  filled  the  large  hall  with  a  flood  of 
melody,  and  glad  feet  twinkled  in  the  graceful  waltz  and 

merry  polka. 
9 


128  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

Pauline  and  her  sister  were  attired  alike  in  gossamer 
dresses,  embroidered  with  silver  and  worn  with  pearl  orna- 
ments. It  was  a  fancy  of  the  sisters  to  dress  alike,  and  it  was 
unfortunate  for  the  less  beautiful  one  that  it  was  so.  It 
brought  their  different  styles  in  such  vivid  contrast,  that 
Pauline  always  lost  much  by  the  comparison. 

Malcolm  gazed  upon  the  two  as  they  stood  side  by  side  to 
receive  their  guests,  and  to  him,  Adele  seemed  a  divinity  who 
condescended  for  a  brief  space  to  bear  the  burden  of  mortality, 
while  Pauline  was  only  a  lovely  and  affectionate  woman.  He 
thought  of  Wordsworth's  lines  as  he  glanced  toward  her, 

"A  being  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food," 

and  his  heart  felt  a  warm  thrill  of  emotion ;  but  when  his 
eye  passed  to  the  more  beautiful  sister,  his  blood  seemed 
rushing  in  a  burning  torrent  through  his  frame,  and  again  in 
his  deep  soul,  he  said, 

"  She  must,  she  shall  be  mine,  at  any  cost." 

From  a  short  distance,  Louise  was  watching  him,  and  she 
felt  confirmed  in  her  suspicions.  Louise  wore  a  fanciful  cos- 
tume which  suited  her  extremely  well.  A  scarlet  silk  skirt 
trimmed  with  black  velvet,  and  a  boddice  to  match  the  trim- 
ming, laced  up  in  front  over  an  embroidered  chemisette, 
scarlet  stockings,  with  black  satin  shoes  laced  high  up  on  the 
ankle,  showed  her  small,  well-shaped  feet  to  advantage.  Her 
fair  neck,  and  finely  moulded  arms  were  bare,  and  without 
jewels,  and  her  hair  was  dressed  without  other  ornament 
than  its  own  silky  beauty. 


129 

Victor,  in  the  most  exquisite  of  costumes,  and  with  the 
blackest  of  moustaches,  was  beside  his  cousin,  ready  to  begin 
the  polka  which  they  had  been  assiduously  practicing  every 
day  since  her  arrival.  He  was  in  the  most  radiant  of  humors, 
for  his  ruthless  aunt  had  not  yet  had  an  opportunity  to  shatter 
his  chateau  en  Espagne,  and  he  reveled  in  the  belief  that  one 
little  month  would  give  him  the  authority  of  a  husband  over 
his  coquettish  inamorata.  Mrs.  Ruskin  had  considered  it 
best  to  defer  her  conversation  with  her  brother,  relative  to  the 
proposed  marriage,  until  after  the  bustle  of  the  ball  was  over, 
Thus  poor  Victor  enjoyed  one  evening  of  unalloyed  happi- 
ness ;  the  last  the  poor  fellow  would  probably  ever  realize. 

Louise  was  kinder  than  usual ;  and  there  was  an  expression 
in  her  glance  that  thrilled  his  soul  with  bliss.  She  knew 
how  baseless  was  his  vision  of  happiness,  and  compassion  for 
him  imparted  a  softness  to  her  manner  which  completed  her 
power  of  fascination.  The  young  Creole  planters  thronged 
around  her,  and  she  had  more  solicitations  to  dance  than 
she  could  possibly  accept.  She  began  to  realize  the  triumph 
of  being  a  belle,  even  in  the  presence  of  the  enchanting 
Adele. 

Louise  was  not  of  a  nature  to  comprehend  that  the 
homage  which  enchanted  her,  was  considered  by  her  loftier 
cousin  as  a  common,  and  not  always  acceptable  tribute  to  her 
charms.  Adele  had  drained  the  cup  of  adulation  to  its 
dregs,  and  she  turned  from  its  emptiness  with  the  conviction 
that  her  soul  was  not  formed  to  be  satisfied  with  such  ephe- 
meral triumphs.  It  craved  something  higher,  nobler,  some- 
thing more  in  harmony  with  the  immortal  spirit  within. 


130  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

Mr.  Harrington  had  resolutely  cast  aside  the  uneasiness 
that  hung  over  him.  Throughout  the  day  a  vague  dread  of 
impending  evil  haunted  his  mind,  but  as  night  approached, 
and  the  necessity  for  arousing  himself  became  imperative,  he 
came  forth  amid  his  guests,  and  from  that  social  sympathy 
which  was  so  prominent  an  element  in  his  character,  he  soon 
acquired  the  power  to  throw  off  the  unusual  weight,  and  join 
in  the  festivities  of  the  evening  with  his  usual  zest.  Never 
had  he  been  more  cordial  to  his  friends,  and  many  remem- 
bered that  entertainment  at  Wavertree,  as  the  last  in  which 
the  hospitable  host  appeared  in  his  true  element. 

Mr.  Harrington  was  even  persuaded,  by  a  young  Creole 
girl,  to  dance  a  gay  measure  with  her,  and  at  its  close,  the 
band  played  the  march  which  was  the  signal  for  supper. 
Followed  by  the  company,  he  conducted  his  lively  partner 
down  a  broad  flight  of  steps  leading  into  the  conservatory, 
which  looked  more  like  a  fairy  temple  than  a  spot  dedicated 
to  the  mundane  enjoyment  of  satisfying  the  appetite.  Gor- 
geous flowering  plants  were  skillfully  arranged  around  the 
walls  of  glass ;  and  in  the  centre,  stretched  a  long  table, 
elegantly  decorated,  and  bearing  upon  it  every  luxury  that 
wealth  could  purchase. 

"  It  would  not  be  so  bad  to  live  here,  after  all,"  thought 
Louise,  as  she  entered,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Malcolm ;  for 
that  gentleman,  to  Victor's  extreme  discomfiture,  had  danced 
with  her  more  than  once,  and  actually  engaged  her  to  go 
down  to  supper  with  him,  before  he,  in  his  exultation,  had 
thought  of  any  thing  so  commonplace  as  eating. 

Malcolm  had  a  double  motive  for  this.      He  wished  to 


131 

mislead  the  suspicions  of  Louise,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
discover,  if  possible,  if  her  mother  had  not  instigated  the  in- 
quiries she  had  so  hardily  propounded  to  himself.  Mrs.  Rus- 
kin  was  charmed  to  see  her  daughter  thus  escorted,  and  the 
vain  heart  of  Louise  exulted  as  she  floated  past  her  cousins, 
attended  by  their  devoted  cavalier. 

Louise  was  transparent  enough,  for  she  was  too  giddy  to 
be  artful,  and  the  skillful  man  of  the  world  found  out  all  he 
cared  to  know,  without  betraying  himself.  Henceforth  he 
was  armed  against  all  the  manoauvres  of  Mrs.  Ruskin,  and 
he  secretly  laughed,  as  he  thought  how  easily  he  could  foil 
her  plans. 

Supper  was  nearly  over,  and  Malcolm  was  w^hing  it  was 
at  an  end,  for  he  began  to  weary  of  the  volatile  chatter  of  his 
fair  companion,  when  a  new  arrival  attracted  his  attention. 
The  packet  from  New  Orleans,  which  had  been  expected  at 
twilight,  had  only  now  arrived,  bringing  on  it  several  gentle- 
men who  had  been  invited  to  the  festival.  Among  them  was 
an  admirer  of  Miss  Ruskin's,  who  joined  her  immediately,  and 
fortunately  monopolized  her  attention  while  a  voice  whispered 
in  Malcolm's  ear, 

"  Excuse  yourself  to  Miss  Ruskin,  and  let  Nevin  take  your 
place  a  few  moments.  I  have  something  of  moment  to  com- 
municate to  you." 

In  more  perturbation  than  he  would  have  wished  to  betray, 
Malcolm  bowed  to  Louise,  and  smiled  as  blandly  as  usual,  as 
he  said, 

"  I  am  constrained  to  be  guilty  of  a  great  rudeness,  Miss 
Ruskin.  See  the  consequences  of  having  a  solemn  man  of 


132  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

business  to  escort  you  in  this  festive  scene.  Will  you  excuse 
me  five  minutes,  while  Nevin  takes  my  place,  and  I  go  with 
my  newly-arrived  friend,  to  hear  important  news  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Louise,  carelessly,  already  deep  in  a 
flirtation  with  the  new  arrival. 

As  he  turned  away,  he  said, 

"  Remember,  you  are  to  dance  the  next  polka  with  me." 

"  0  no — I  only  polk  with  Victor ;  but  I  will  waltz  with 
you  after  supper." 

"  Waltz  be  it,  then,"  and  with  a  gay  air  he  turned,  and  soon 
disappeared  with  his  friend. 

No  sooner  were  they  beyond  the  lights  and  glare  of  the 
conservatory,  than  the  expression  of  his  features  changed 
rnarvelously.  He  plunged  into  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and 
then  said  briefly,  almost  sternly, 

"  What  has  happened,  Lennard  ?  The  sound  of  your  voice 
startled  me  greatly,  for  there  was  a  tone  in  it  that  seemed 
ominous  of  ruin." 

"  I  do  not  know  if  the  loss  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  will 
ruin  you,  but  if  you  have  confided  that  sum  to  Withers  I  have 
to  tell  you  that  it  is  irretrievably  lost." 

"  Lost — how  ?  He  has  not  surely  eloped,  or  paid  it  with- 
out knowing  that  Madame  Roget  was  dead  2" 

"  Neither — he  learned  her  death  in  time  to  refuse  to  close 
the  trade;  but  unfortunately  he  drew  the  money,  and  was 
foolhardy  enough  to  keep  it  in  the  house  with  him.  He  was 
robbed  and  assassinated." 

"  Murdered  1"  exclaimed  Malcolm,  with  a  shudder.     "  The 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  133 

money  irrevocably  gone!  Good  heavens  1  This  is  a  sad 
affair  for  our  friend  Harrington." 

"  The  fifty  thousand  was  not  yours  then  ?" 

«  No — kut  it  is  useless  now  to  explain.  Is  there  no  pos- 
sible clew  to  the  robbers  ?" 

"  None — the  police  are  entirely  at  fault.  Withers  had  no 
intimates — he  lived  a  quiet  and  secluded  life,  as  you  know. 
There  never  was  an  affair  of  the  kind  enveloped  in  more  pro- 
found mystery." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Malcolm  spoke  with  vague 
bitterness,  as  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  scene  of 
pleasure, 

"  Hark  !  hear  that  music — look  on  that  brilliantly-lighted 
saloon,  in  which  is  gathered  the  elite  of  the  whole  parish. 
Will  it  not  be  strange  news  to  them  that  the  giver  of  the 
feast  is  a  ruined  man  ?  Of  all  the  guests  collected  here, 
I  wonder  how  many  of  them  would  come  forward  to 
assist  him  with  the  thousands  so  many  have  at  their  com- 
mand?" 

His  companion  shrugged  his  shoulders : 

"  Not  many,  I  fancy.  Prodigality  must  find  an  end  to  its 
wastefulness  at  last.  This  will  be  a  lightning  stroke  to  the 
exquisite  son,  and  dainty  daughters.  I  fancy  the  beauty  will 
be  less  fastidious  now  than  formerly." 

A  fiery  gleam  lighted  up  the  eyes  of  Malcolm,  and  he 
clenched  his  hands  until  the  nails  wounded  the  flesh,  but  he 
did  not  utter  the  angry  feeling  that  swept  through  his  mind 
at  such  an  allusion  to  Adele.  He  knew  the  speaker  had  been 
an  unsuccessful  suitor  to  her,  and  ,he  therefore  pardoned  his 


134 

petty  spite.  Already  had  the  open-handed  generosity  of  the 
man  of  abundant  means  found  a  harsh  name.  What  was 
called  liberality  in  the  wealthy  planter,  was  stigmatized  as 
prodigality  in  him  over  whom  the  first  cloud  of  misfortune 
began  to  lower.  He  briefly  said, 

"  Mr.  Harrington  has  been  unfortunate,  but  not  blamable. 
He  only  endeavored  to  increase  his  possessions  as  many  men 
do,  and  the  chances  have  been  against  him — that  is  all :  he 
may  recover  yet.  I  spoke  precipitately — I  was  shocked  and 
hurried  by  the  sudden  announcement  of  this  fatal  catas- 
trophe." 

"Hum,"  said  Lennard,  discontentedly,  "I  hope  affairs 
may  be  so  managed  as  not  quite  to  ruin  him.  Let  us  return 
to  the  supper-room  ;  since  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  come  in  at 
the  fog-end  of  the  feast,  I  wish  to  enjoy  as  much  of  it  as  pos- 
sible before  it  closes — especially  as,  from  present  indications, 
it  is  likely  to  be  the  last." 

Revolted  by  his  hardness,  and  half  offended  by  his  evident 
hostility  toward  the  family  whose  hospitality  he  was  enjoying, 
Malcolm  accompanied  him  in  silence. 

As  they  entered  the  conservatory,  there  was  a  slight  lull  in 
the  eager  buzz  of  conversation,  and  Mr.  Harrington  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  holding  a  goblet  of  wine  in  his  hand, 
from  which  he  was  about  to  drink  to  the  health  of  his  guests. 
In  a  few  well-chosen  words  he  expressed  the  hope  that  he 
should  often  have  the  pleasure  of  thus  assembling  them  be- 
neath his  roof. 

This  little  speech  was  received  with  audible  murmurs  of 
applause  ;  he  was  in  the  act  of  lifting  the  sparkling  draught 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  135 

to  his  lips,  when  a  few  words  were  uttered  near  him.  He 
grew  pale — spilled  the  wine,  and  tremulously  replaced  the 
goblet  upon  the  table  ;  then  seeming  to  recover  his  self-pos- 
session, he  again  lifted  it,  quaffed  the  contents  with  an  effort, 
but  the  crystal  fell  from  his  nerveless  grasp,  and  was  shat- 
tered into  fragments  at  his  feet.  With  a  vague  look  around, 
he  comprehended  that  those  near  him  thought  him  ill.  In 
reply  to  their  anxious  queries,  he  muttered, 

"  No — no — not  ill — not  ill — only  stricken — stricken/'  and 
with  the  effort  to  raise  himself  to  a  more  erect  position,  he 
reeled,  and  would  have  fallen,  had  he  not  been  sustained  by 
others. 

The  words  which  had  produced  this  fatal  emotion  were 
uttered  at  random  by  two  of  the  guests.  A  gentleman  in- 
quired of  one  of  the  newly-arrived  party, 

"What  is  this  story  about  the  murder  and  robbery  of 
Withers  ?" 

"  0,  a  very  bad  one.  He  had  drawn  fifty  thousand  dollars 
from  one  of  his  numerous  patrons,  to  pay  for  the  Delolme 
estate.  The  trade  was  not  completed ;  he  kept  the  money  by 
him,  and  that  night  his  house  was  robbed,  and  himself  assas- 
sinated." 

Malcolm  comprehended  what  had  happened  so  soon  as 
he  caught  a  view  of  the  ghastly  features  of  Mr.  Harrington. 
He  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  until  he  reached  him, 
and  then  whispered, 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  my  dear  sir,  control  this  emotion.  I 
believe  I  know  its  cause ;  to  conceal  it  is  of  the  last  import- 
ance to  you." 


136 

Mr.  Harrington  regarded  him  with  a  stony  expression 
which  greatly  alarmed  him. 

"  Get  me  away  from  here,"  he  said  ;  "  I  shall  suffocate  in 
this  crowd." 

A  way  was  opened  to  the  door,  and,  attended  by  the 
alarmed  members  of  his  own  family,  he  went  out,  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  Malcolm.  As  he  gained  the  door,  he  turned, 
waved  his  hand,  and  spoke  more  collectedly, 

"My  friends,  enjoy  yourselves — my  illness  will  soon  be 
over.  Let  it  not  mar  your  pleasure." 

As  he  passed  out,  Lennard  sneered, 

"  No  danger  of  that.  The  giver  of  the  feast  is  the  last 
person  thought  of  after  the  compliments  of  the  evening  are 
offered." 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you,  sir,"  said  a  gentleman  who  over- 
heard him ;  "  especially  when  the  host  is  such  a  man  as  the 
one  who  has  just  left  us." 

Finding  that_  his  cynicism  was  not  agreeable  to  every  one, 
Lennard  joined  Louise  Ruskin,  and  said, 

"  Malcolm  has  gone  to  look  after  your  uncle,  Miss  Louise, 
and  I  indulge  the  hope  that  you  will  accept  me  in  his  place 
as  a  partner  for  the  next  waltz.  I  have  something  for  your 
especial  ear,  fair  lady." 

"Is  my  uncle  really  so  ill  ?  I  thought  it  was  only  a  little 
dizziness,  from  which  he  will  soon  recover." 

"  So  it  is :  but  Malcolm  must  not  neglect  his  father-in-law 
elect,  you  know.  He  will  not  return  in  time.  Besides,  I 
have  a  secret  for  you." 

"  A  secret '  I  never  kept  one  in  my  life :  and  you  think 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      137 

yours  a  temptation  to  me  to  forego  my  engagement  with  Mr. 
Malcolm.  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

"  Excuse  me  ;  I  prefer  not  giving  a  direct  answer  to  that ; 
but  I  really  have  something  to  reveal  to  you  that  may 
seriously  influence  your  conduct  toward  a  certain  person." 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  must  hear  that,"  and  Louise  took  his  arm 
to  return  to  the  ball-room,  contenting  herself  with  requesting 
Nevin  to  inquire  how  her  uncle  now  was,  and  bring  her 
word. 

Victor  had  followed  the  family  group,  and  while  Lennard 
and  Louise  promenaded  the  room  he  poured  into  her  ears  the 
story  of  her  uncle's  ruin. 

She  listened  in  pained  silence,  for  thoughtless  and  worldly 
as  she  was,  Louise  was  not  destitute  of  feeling.  She  sorrow- 
fully felt  how  changed  were  her  relations  with  Victor  by  this 
disastrous  reverse,  and  she  felt  that  her  kind  uncle  held  a 
warmer  place  in  her  regard  than  she  could  have  believed, 
before  this  catastrophe. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  all  this,  Mr.  Lennard  ?"  she  asked. 

"  As  sure  as  a  man  can  be  who  knows  all  about  it.  The 
world  has  given  you  to  Victor  Harrington,  Miss  Ruskin ;  but 
I  place  no  faith  in  the  report.  I,  however,  thought  it  best  to 
warn  you,  that  if  there  is  any  truth  in  it,  you  may  recede  in 
time." 

She  seemed  annoyed,  and  coldly  replied, 

"  Thank  you,  but  there  is  no  need  for  the  caution.  We 
are  cousins,  and  therefore  come  within  the  degrees  forbidden 
to  marry  by  one  church  at  least.  My  mother  has  prejudices 
on  that  score  too.  Under  such  circumstances,  it  is  not  likely 


138 

that  Victor  and  myself  will  ever  seek  to  become  more  to  each 
other  than  we  now  are.  We  have  a  cousinly  regard  for  each 
other,  but  no  more." 

Her  cheek  glowed  at  the  falsehood,  but  she  knew  Lennard 
to  be  a  gossip  and  a  bitter  retailer  of  the  weaknesses  of 
others.  To  her,  any  thing  seemed  better  than  exposing  the 
true  state  of  affairs  between  herself  and  Victor.  Lennard 
went  on  talking  and  speculating  on  the  changes  likely  to 
occur  at  Wavertree,  but  she  listened  vacantly,  and  responded 
at  random. 

The  dancing  did  not  recommence  until  the  sisters,  at- 
tended by  their  brother,  returned  to  the  ball-room,  and  to  the 
numerous  inquiries  addressed  to  them,  replied  that  their  fathei 
was  better,  and  requested  that  the  music  should  no  longer  be 
silent. 

Again  the  dancing  was  resumed,  and  continued  until  nearly 
daylight.  The  pale  and  suffering  sisters  then  sought  their 
father's  room,  to  learn  how  he  had  passed  the  hours  of  their 
enforced  absence  from  him. 

They  found  him  sleeping  heavily  and  uneasily,  with 
flushed  features,  and  labored  breathing.  Miss  Harrington 
sat  beside  the  bed,  watching  him  with  great  solicitude.  She 


"  My  dear  girls,  your  father  sleeps,  and  you  had  better  seek 
the  repose  you  need  yourselves.  Be  not  uneasy  about  him ;  I 
will  not  leave  him." 

"  But  you  are  worn  out  yourself,  aunt.  Let  one  of  us  re- 
main here,  while  you  rest." 

"  No,  Pauline.    I  can  not  sleep — and  this  large  chair  of- 


139 

fers  me  as  much  repose  as  I  need.  Sleep,  sleep,  my  child, 
for  you  know  not  what  call  may  soon  be  made  on  your 
energies." 

"  Do  you  think  my  father  dangerously  ill  ?"  asked  Adele, 
apprehensively. 

"  Not  at  present,  my  dear." 

Pauline  examined  his  flushed  face. 

"Has  he  taken  an  anodyne,  Aunt  Gertrude,  that  he 
breathes  so  heavily  ?" 

"  No — he  has  taken  nothing.  Many  persons  are  so  con- 
stituted that  a  sudden  shock  seems  to  paralyze  the  nervous 
sensibility,  and  sleep  becomes  necessary  to  them.  In  such  a 
condition  your  father  seems  now  to  lie." 

"  But  what  shock  has  he  met  with  ?  Has  any  thing  hap- 
pened ?" 

"  I  believe  he  heard  unpleasant  news  from  New  Orleans, 
concerning  money  transactions  in  which  he  was  interested. 
There,  run  away  to  your  own  room — it  is  quite  day,  and 
you  look  tired  to  death." 

With  lighter  hearts  the  sisters  obeyed.  A  difficulty  of  that 
kind  could  only  be  temporary  to  one  of  their  father's  means, 
they  thought ;  and,  therefore,  things  would  soon  flow  on  at 
Wavertree  in  their  usual  course. 

Miss  Harrington  sat  alone  beside  the  couch  of  her  brother, 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  physician  who  had  been  hastily 
summoned.  Dr.  Germain  resided  several  miles  from  Waver- 
tree, and  when  the  messenger  reached  his  house,  he  was  not 
at  home.  He  went  in  search  of  him,  and  in  extreme  un- 
easiness the  attached  sister  awaited  his  arrival.  She  was  too 


140  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTEB. 

experienced  a  judge  of  sickness  not  to  be  aware  that  her 
brother  was  in  imminent  danger  of  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  and 
with  the  deepest  solicitude  she  listened  to  every  noise  which 
might  indicate  the  approach  of  the  physician. 

It  was  bright  day  when  he  arrived,  and  he  came  directly 
to  the  bedside  of  his  patient. 

"Nothing  serious  the  matter,  I  trust,  Miss  Harrington," 
he  said  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  entered.  "  The  eagerness  of 
the  negro  boy,  and  his  disjointed  story,  gave  me  great  un- 
easiness until  I  arrived.  Then  Mr.  Malcolm,  whom  I  met 
in  the  yard,  told  me  that  your  brother  is  suffering  more  in 
mind  than  in  body." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  his  mind  has  not  acted  for  several  hours, 
doctor.  He  has  slept  heavily  ever  since  we  have  succeeded 
in  getting  him  in  bed." 

With  a  slow,  cautious  movement,  the  physician  raised 
the  heavy  curtain  from  the  window  nearest  the  bed,  and 
suffered  the  light  to  fall  on  the  flushed  face  of  the  sleeper. 
One  glance  showed  his  experienced  eye  that  what  he 
feared  had  really  taken  place.  He  dropped  the  curtain  and 
asked, 

"  Has  your  brother  lain  motionless  ever  since  you  watched 
beside  him,  Miss  Harrington  ?" 

"  No — at  first  he  was  restless,  and  spoke  several  times ;  but 
he  gradually  sunk  into  silence,  and  then  commenced  this 
heavy  breathing.  I  know  what  you  apprehend,  doctor,  for 
the  same  fear  has  been  in  my  own  mind.  Can  apoplexy  be 
averted  by  medical  treatment  ?" 

"  If  I  had  been  on  the  spot  at  first,  I  might  have  saved  him 


141 

from  this.  O  would  that  I  had  been  here,  and  then  this  good 
man  would  not  be  here,  and  thus." 

He  wiped  the  moisture  from  his  eyes  as  he  gazed  upon  his 
old  friend,  lying  so  helpless  before  him.  Miss  Harrington  be- 
came alarmed.  She  tremulously  asked, 

"  Has  my  brother  really  had  a  fit  ?" 

"  A  slight  one.  I  can  relieve  him  for  the  present,  Miss 
Gertrude,  so  do  not  be  alarmed.  But  it  always  painrally  af- 
fects me  to  see  a  noble  man  thus  stricken  down  in  the  pride 
of  his  strength.  Never  do  I  so  forcibly  feel  what  helpless 
atoms  we  are  in  the  eyes  of  the  Great  Omnipotent,  as  when  I 
behold  such  a  sight  as  this." 

With  skill  and  success  Dr.  Germain  applied  such  remedies 
as  restored  Mr.  Harrington  to  consciousness  in  a  few  hours , 
and  it  was  agreed  between  himself  and  the  affectionate  sister, 
that  the  nature  of  the  attack  should  be  concealed,  as  far  as 
possible,  from  the  sick  man,  and  also  from  the  friends  of  the 
family.  Hie  household  were,  therefore,  warned  to  be  guarded 
in  reference  to  his  illness,  either  to  himself  or  others. 

During  the  day,  the  guests  dispersed  to  their  various  homes, 
leaving  only  Mrs.  Ruskin,her  daughter,  and  Malcolm,  with  the 
family. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

.  v^r     ^Vip.-.sa!  -.  *<**.  <v*«  1  l^jbeeii 

MALCOLM  felt  compelled  to  leave  Wavertree  as  soon  as 

possible  for  New  Orleans,  to  attend  to  business  which  the 
sudden  death  of-  Withers  had  left  in  a  confused  and  preca- 
rious state ;  but  he  also  felt  the  necessity  of  communica- 
ting with  Mr.  Harrington  before  his  departure. 

He  waited  in  great  uneasiness  until  day  began  to  decline, 
in  the  hope  that  the  invalid  would  be  sufficiently  recovered  to 
give  his  attention  a  few  moments  to  what  he  wished  to  say  to 
him.  At  first,  Dr.  Germain  opposed  his  wish,  as  any  excite- 
ment in  Mr.  Harrington's  weakened  and  critical  condition, 
must  be  injurious ;  but  Malcolm  hinted  to  him  the  cause  of 
the  attack,  and  assured  him  that  he  possessed  the  power  to 
remove  from  the  sick  man's  mind  much  of  the  weight  that 
oppressed  it. 

In  this  view  of  the  case,  the  physician  consented  that  he 
should  see  him  ;  and  Malcolm  was  ushered  into  the  invalid's 
apartment.  Mr.  Harrington,  pallid  and  exhausted  from  ex- 
cessive loss  of  blood,  lay  against  a  pile  of  pillows,  with  his 
eyes  half  closed.  At  the  sound  of  footsteps,  he  feebly  raised 
them,  and  a  faint  glow  of  color  crossed  his  cheek  as  he  recog- 
nized his  visitor.  He  made  a  deprecating  sign  with  his  hand, 
and  muttered, 


143 

"Not  now,  not  now,  Malcolm.     I  am  too  weak  to  think." 

"  I  came  to  relieve  you  from  the  most  pressing  portion  of 
your  mental  weight,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Malcolm,  sooth- 
ingly. "  I  do  not  ask  you  to  talk ;  only  listen  to  me,  and 
I  think  you  will  find  cause  to  be  less  despondent," 

"  Let  me  hear  it,"  he  feebly  said.  "  But  do  not  be  sur- 
prised if  I  can  not  always  follow  your  meaning.  My  brain 
seems  in  a  chaotic  state,  which  I  can  scarcely  account  for. 
The  tendency  of  blood  to  the  brain  frightened  my  sister,  and 
she  persuaded  the  doctor  to  bleed  me  until  I  am  as  weak  as  a 
child." 

"  You  will  soon  recover  from  that,  my  dear  sir  ;  and  now  I 
will  speak  of  what  brought  me  hither.  You  remember  ac- 
curately what  so  unnerved  you  last  night  ?" 

Mr.  Harrington  assented,  and  the  expression  of  his  face 
showed  that  while  consciousness  was  with  him,  that  recol- 
lection would  not  soon  be  effaced.  Malcolm  went  on : 

"  I  came  to  you  to  propose  a  remedy  for  it." 

The  attention  of  the  sick  man  was  now  fully  aroused, 
and  ho  evidently  listened  with  the  keenest  interest.  He 
said, 

"  Let  me  hear  it ;  perhaps  it  will  give  me  strength  to 
live." 

"To  live — 0  yes,  my  dear  friend;  and  to  enjoy  life  too. 
I  am  certain  that  I  can  restore  to  you  the  means  of  so 
doing  without  compromising  either  your  fortune  or  your  in- 
tegrity." 

Mr.  Harrington's  eyes  gleamed  with  new  lustre,  and  he 

grasped  the  hand  of  the  speaker. 
10 


144 

"  Do  this,  and  I  shall  indeed  believe  you  my  friend.  Let 
me  hear  what  you  propose." 

"  It  is  this.  I  offer  to  advance  you  the  sum  requisite  to 
repay  this  debt  to  Messrs.  Hall,  if  you  will  transfer  the  mort- 
gage on  this  place  to  me.  You  know  that  I  will  make  no 
illiberal  use  of  it,  and  in  fact,  it  seems  only  a  family  arrange- 
ment, since  you  are  so  kind  as  to  permit  me  to  hope  that  a 
nearer  tie  will  one  day  connect  us." 

"  Only  on  the  condition  that  my  daughter  freely  consents. 
I  will  not  barter  my  child  for  money,  however  much  I  may 
need  it." 

Malcolm  was  glad  he  spoke  vaguely  of  his  daughter,  as  it 
afforded  him  a  pretext  to  evade  defining  his  position,  without 
actually  telling  a  falsehood.  He  quietly  replied, 

"  I  fully  understand  that ;  but  with  your  sanction  to  my 
pretensions,  I  do  not  apprehend  a  failure  where  my  heart  is  so 
deeply  interested." 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  Mr.  Harrington  moved  rest- 
lessly, and  Malcolm  again  proceeded, 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  I  hope,  for  what  I  am  about  to  say, 
but  in  consideration  of  the  deep  interest  I  feel  for  you,  I  am 
compelled  to  speak  what  I  think  will  be  for  the  best.  Your 
income  is  large :  reduce  your  expenses  one  half,  and  you  will 
still  live  in  as  handsome  style  as  any  of  your  neighbors.  Ap- 
ply the  half  saved  to  the  reduction  of  this  debt,  and  in  four 
years  you  will  be  free." 

"  Ah — if  that  were  all,"  sighed  the  sick  man.  "  But  my 
liabilities  are  large,  aside  from  that." 

Malcolm  pondered  a  moment,  and  then  said, 


145 

"  Our  other  speculations  may  enable  you  to  clear  off  those. 
I  am  sanguine  of  success  in  them." 

Mr.  Harrington  shuddered  ;  he  repeated, 

"  Speculation !  I  would  to  heaven  I  had  never  heard  the 
word,  or  been  tempted  to  barter  my  peace  of  mind  for  any 
increase  of  wealth.  If  I  had  possessed  the  strength  to  make 
the  retrenchment  now  imperatively  needed,  I  could  have  ex- 
tricated myself  from  every  embarrassment  without  recourse 
to  such  doubtful  means  of  increasing  my  fortune.  After  all, 
who  have  I  really  gratified  by  the  lavish  display  which  has 
so  long  surrounded  me  ?  I  begin  to  think  that  wealth  is  a 
gift  to  be  held  in  trust  for  the  benefit  of  others.  But  who 
has  been  benefited  by  mine  ?  Flatterers,  parasites,  and  the 
seekers  after  amusement,  are  all  who  have  shared  with  me  in 
the  bounties  Providence  has  lavished  upon  me." 

"  Dear  sir,  these  are  only  the  grim  fancies  of  a  sick  bed. 
I  have  been  told  of  many  acts  of  yours,  which  prove  that 
you  are  never  deaf  to  the  call  of  benevolence." 

"  No,  Malcolm,  my  liberality  does  not  deserve  the  name  of 
benevolence.  It  was  only  a  good-natured  dislike  to  see  others 
suffer  for  what  I  possessed  in  abundance.  I  have  given  freely, 
I  know,  but  often  to  objects  I  knew  to  be  unworthy.  Now, 
when  I  can  no  longer  give,  I  feel  this.  Ah  !  what  pure  and 
noble  pleasure  have  I  sacrificed  to  my  love  of  ease,  and  the 
outward  show  that  surrounds  me !  As  I  lie  here,  I  feel  the 
vanity  of  all  those  things." 

"  If  all  men  had  as  little  to  reproach  themselves  with  as 
you  have,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Malcolm,  "  the  recording  angel 
would  have  few  sins  to  blot  out  with  his  tears." 


146      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

Mr.  Harrington  closed  his  eyes  wearily,  and  seemed  to 
meditate.  Presently  he  said, 

"  We  have  wandered  from  the  subject.  Let  us  understand 
each  other  at  once.  I  gladly  consent  to  your  offer  to  release 
me  from  this  debt  to  my  merchants,  for  with  so  large  an  addi- 
tion to  what  I  already  owe  them,  I  could  not  ask  them  to 
wait  longer  with  me.  You  can  have  such  an  instrument 
drawn  as  is  necessary,  and  on  your  return  I  will  execute  such 
legal  formalities  as  are  needful." 

Malcolm's  face  grew  bright  with  triumph — but  he  sat  with 
his  back  to  the  evening  light,  and  the  sick  man  could  not  see 
its  expression.  He  gently  said, 

"  Thank  you ;  I  rejoice  in  the  power  to  serve  you.  I  must 
leave  immediately  for  New  Orleans ;  there  I  will  arrange  every 
thing  with  Messrs.  Hall,  and,  on  my  return,  the  mortgage 
can  be  settled." 

"  Do  as  your  judgment  dictates,  Malcolm.  I  have  implicit 
reliance  on  your  friendship  for  me." 

Malcolm  winced  a  little  at  this,  but  in  the  next  moment  he 
felt  renewed  pride  in  the  skill  with  which  he  had  managed 
his  dupe. 

After  a  pause,  Mr.  Harrington  went  on, 

"  I  must  curtail  my  expenses  still  Further,  for  I  feel  that  it 
will  not  be  honest  to  live  in  such  elegance  as  even  the  half 
of  my  income  will  purchase,  while  a  debt  of  such  importance 
is  hanging  over  me.  Arrange  with  Messrs.  Hall  for  me,  that 
I  will  pay  them  annually  six  thousand  dollars  on  their  claim 
until  it  is  liquidated." 

"  But,  just  as  your  son  is  about  to  marry,  how  can  you  do 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  147 

this  ?  His  allowance,  has,  I  believe,  been  at  least  half  the 
sum  you  propose  to  retain  for  the  support  of  your  whole  es- 
tablishment." 

"  Victor  must  now  content  himself  with  one  third  of  that 
sum,  and  if  he  marries  he  can  bring  his  bride  here.  She  will 
be  doubly  welcome,  since  we  can  no  longer  afford  to  entertain 
so  much  company  as  heretofore.  The  sprightliness  of  Louise 
will  enliven  us  all ;  my  children,  I  truly  believe,  will  be  ready 
to  make  any  sacrifice  to  bring  peace  to  my  mind." 

Of  the  daughters,  Malcolm  readily  believed  this,  but  he  was 
doubtful  about  the  ready  acquiescence  of  Victor.  He  knew 
more  of  the  young  man's  affairs  than  his  father  was  likely  to 
be  aware  of,  and  he  knew  that  Victor  had  far  exceeded  his 
allowance,  liberal  as  it  was.  How  then  would  it  be  possible 
for  him  to  live  on  a  few  hundreds  a  year  with  a  wife  of  fash- 
ionable habits  and  expensive  tastes  ?  This,  however,  was 
no  concern  of  his,  and  he  seemingly  assented  to  Mr.  Harring- 
ton's observation.  He  arose,  and  pressing  the  hand  of  the 
sick  man,  said, 

"  Set  your  mind  at  rest,  dear  sir,  and  recover  as  rapidly  as 
possible.  I  will  settle  every  thing  with  your  merchants  to 
your  satisfaction,  and  in  a  few  weeks  I  hope  to  be  able  to  re- 
turn to  claim  my  reward." 

Mr.  Harrington  smiled  faintly ;  he  said, 

"  Always  with  the  understanding  that  my  daughter  freely 
consents.  These  business  details  must  be  kept  from  her 
knowledge,  lest  they  might  influence  her  decision." 

"  I  should  wish  that  as  earnestly  as  yourself,  of  course," 
were  the  words  of  Malcolm's  reply,  though  he  scorned  him- 


148 

self  for  their  falseness  as  they  were  uttered.  As  he  passed 
from  the  room,  he  met  Miss  Harrington  at  the  door.  He 
paused,  and  said, 

"  You  were  uneasy  at  this  protracted  interview,  Miss  Har- 
rington, but  I  believe  I  may  pledge  you  my  word  that  it  has 
not  injured  your  brother.  On  the  contrary,  he  will  be  better 
for  what  has  passed  between  us ;  and  now  I  must  bid  you 
farewell,  as  a  packet  is  momentarily  expected,  and  on  it  I 
leave  for  New  Orleans." 

"  We  shall  see  you  again  before  very  long  ?"  she  cour- 
teously inquired,  for  even  Aunt  Gertrude  was  not  proof 
against  Malcom's  fascinating  address.  Her  usual  insight  into 
character  seemed  here  completely  baffled,  and,  like  her  brother, 
she  began  to  place  implicit  faith  in  the  honor  of  him  who 
seemed  formed  to  win  golden  opinions  from  all  the  world. 
He  smiled  brilliantly,  as  he  replied, 

"0  yes,  ma'am.  You  do  not  so  easily  get  rid  of  one 
who  has  found  so  many  attractions  beneath  this  roof.  Can 
you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  the  young  ladies,  Miss  Har- 
rington ?" 

"  Adele  is  suffering  from  headache ;  the  shock  of  seeing 
her  father  so  ill  quite  overcame  her,  poor  child  ;  but  Pauline 
has  more  fortitude — you  will  find  her  in  the  library,  whither 
she  went  to  answer  some  letters  on  business  for  my  brother." 

After  bidding  her  farewell,  Malcolm  slowly  proceeded  to- 
ward the  library,  endeavoring  by  the  way  to  stifle  the  strange 
interest  which  Pauline  ever  created  in  his  heart.  Near  her, 
he  was  always  on  his  guard,  lest  an  expression  of  too  much 
warmth  should  compromise  him,  and  render  his  posi- 


149 

tion  between  the  two  sisters  more  difficult  than  it  already 
was. 

He  found  her  seated  beside  her  father's  table,  busily  en- 
gaged in  writing,  and  the  evening  sunshine  quivered  through 
the  leaves  of  the  old  tree  upon  her  delicately-moulded  hands 
and  colorless  face.  The  folds  of  silken  hair,  more  carelessly 
arranged  than  usual,  for  she  had  watched  beside  her  father 
many  hours  of  the  day,  contrasted  their  glossy  brightness 
with  her  worn  and  wearied  features.  Malcolm  paused  on  the 
threshold  and  watched  her  several  moments,  and  so  easily 
impressed  by  mere  outward  appearance  was  he,  that  he  won- 
dered how  that  pale,  inanimate,  and  ordinary-looking  girl  had 
possessed  the  power,  even  for  an  instant,  to  interest  his  heart. 
As  Pauline  now  appeared,  the  spell  was  broken,  and  he  felt 
that  he  no  longer  feared  himself. 

He  advanced  leisurely  into  the  room  ;  as  the  sound  of  his 
step  fell  upon  the  carpet,  a  clear  streak  of  crimson  swept 
across  the  pale  cheek,  for  the  writer  recognized  that  tread. 
She  raised  her  eyes  from  the  paper,  they  glanced  an  instant 
into  his  own,  and  by  a  subtle  electric  influence  he  could  not 
comprehend,  those  wonderful  eyes  drew  him  at  once  to  her 
side  with  a  heart  full  of  sympathy  for  her  sorrow.  Yet  the 
eyes  of  Pauline  were  neither  magnificent  nor  unfathomable — 
they  were  tender  human  eyes,  which  expressed  kindness,  af 
fection,  and  truth ;  and  by  ordinary  observers,  they  would 
not  perhaps  have  been  considered  very  beautiful,  but  to 
those  she  loved,  they  were  indeed  "  wells  of  light ;"  to  such, 
her  plain  face  became  transfigured  and  shone  with  wonderful 
loveliness. 


150  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  You  have  been  with  my  father  ?"  she  said.  "  Ah  !  how 
his  poor  pallid  face  made  my  heart  ache,  as  I  sat  beside  him 
to-day.  And  then  to  think  of  the  awful  dread  that  must  re- 
main with  us,  that  he  may  be  struck  down  at  any  moment 
by  a  similar  attack,  and  snatched  from  us  forevey." 

"Forever,"  repeated  Malcolm,  with  a  softened  inflexion  in 
his  voice  he  could  not  control.  "  I  thought  your  faith  taught 
you  a  better  lesson  than  that,  Pauline." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ventured  to  call  her  thus,  and 
a  strange  thrill  of  happiness  quivered  through  her  unquiet 
heart,  at  the  sound  of  her  own  name  thus  pronounced.  She 
reverently  answered, 

"  I  spoke  too  vaguely  on  a  subject  of  such  moment.  I 
simply  meant  that  on  earth  we  should  behold  him  no  more. 
Do  you  really  think  my  father  is  in  great  danger,  Mr.  Mal- 
colm 2" 

"  By  no  means.  He  seems  quite  relieved  now  ;  in  a  few 
days  his  strength  will  return,  and  you  will  see  him  as  well  as 
ever." 

She  doubtfully  answered, 

"  I  fear  not.  If  the  cause  could  be  removed,  perhaps  it 
might  be  so.  It  seems  so  strange  to  me  that  a  difficulty 
about  money  should  so  seriously  affect  my  father.  I  have 
always  seen  him  so  lavish  in  his  expenditure,  that  distress  of 
that  kind  would  never  have  occurred  to  me,  but  for  the  as- 
surance of  my  aunt  that  such  is  really  the  case." 

"  The  very  liberality  of  which  you  speak  has  probably 
caused  his  embarrassment.  I  will  not  deceive  you,  Pauline  ; 
your  father  has  met  with  heavy  losses,  and  it  will  be  neces- 


THB  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  151 

sary  to  alter  his  present  style  of  living  materially,  to  release 
him  from  encumbrances  that  have  been  increasing  from  year 
to  year,  until  they  have  become  oppressive." 

"  O !  why  did  he  not  sooner  let  us  know  this  ?"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Could  my  father  think  so  meanly  of  his  children 
«is  to  suppose  that  we  would  not  cheerfully  resign  the  out- 
ward pageantry  of  life,  to  secure  him  peace,  and  repose  of 
mind  ?" 

"  He  fully  believes  this,  I  assure  you,  for  he  but  now  ex- 
pressed it  to  me.  Until  a  recent  loss,  which  became  known 
to  him  too  suddenly  last  night,  he  was  not  uneasy  about  the 
other  debts.  Both  together  might  have  been  something  seri- 
ous to  contend  with,  had  I  not  fortunately  possessed  the 
power  to  aid  in  extricating  him  from  his  most  pressing  em- 
barrassment. 

"  You ! — 0  how  shall  I  thank  you  ?"  exclaimed  the  young 
girl,  with  clasped  hands,  and  eyes  shining  through  tears. 

Malcolm  had  purposely  revealed  this  to  her  to  witness  its 
effect.  He  wished  the  sisters  to  know  and  feel  the  obligation 
under  which  their  father  rested  to  him,  but  he  was  touched 
deeply  at  Pauline's  delighted  emotion.  It  plainly  said,  that 
to  him  of  all  the  world,  she  preferred  her  father  should  be 
indebted  for  his  release  from  his  difficulties.  He  took  her 
hand,  and  his  heart  fluttered  as  he  felt  its  tremulous  throb- 
bing within  his  own.  His  strong  impulse  was  to  press  it  to 
his  lips  and  heart,  and  ask  her  to  bestow  it  upon  him  for- 
ever. 

Words  trembled  on  his  lips,  which  would  have  rendered  it 
impossible  for  him  to  retract,  when  a  voice  spoke  beneath  the 


152  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

window,  which  sent  back  those  burning  messengers  with  a 
recoil  that  blanched  his  dark  cheek,  and  made  the  strong 
man  tremble  at  the  precipice  on  which  he  stood. 

He  dropped  her  hand,  and  gazed  down  upon  the  fair  face 
of  Adele,  who,  with  her  head  thrown  back,  stood  looking  up, 
calling  upon  her  sister  to  join  her  in  a  walk.  She,  too,  was 
slightly  paler  than  usual,  but  this  spiritual  fairness  seemed  to 
give  a  new  charm  to  her  sculptured  features.  Malcolm  stood 
freed  from  the  spell  of  Pauline,  for  the  greater  enchantress 
had  appeared,  and  his  soul  sank  in  willing  homage  before 
her. 

Adele  smiled  as  she  recognized  Malcolm.     She  said, 

"  You  there,  too,  Mr.  Malcolm  ?  That  is  a  pleasure  I  had 
not  anticipated.  Come  with  my  sister,  and  let  us  walk  on 
the  levee.  It  will  cure  my  head-ache,  I  believe." 

Pauline  demurred — her  letters  were  not  quite  completed, 
and  they  must  go  by  that  night's  mail. 

"  Insist  on  her  coming,  Mr.  Malcolm,"  urged  Adele.  "  She 
has  been  in  the  house  all  day,  and  looks  like  a  ghost.  Bring 
her  down,  and  I  will  assist  her  to  finish  her  letters  when  we 
return.  Hark!  there  is  a  boat  coming — hurry,  and  we  will 
reach  the  levee  in  time  to  see  it  sweep  past." 

"  Come,"  said  Malcolm,  rapidly.  "  I  know  by  the  sound 
that  it  comes  down  stream — and  I  must  leave  on  it." 

"  So  soon  ? — I  thought  you  would  yet  remain  a  few  days, 
until  my  father  is  quite  restored." 

"  It  is  for  his  sake  that  I  go  at  once ;  I  have  not  a  moment 
to  lose,  for  the  boat  is  rounding  to  now.  I  sought  you  hero 
to  bid  you  farewell." 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  153 

As  they  descended  toward  the  yard,  Pauline  asked, 

"  How  long  hefore  you  will  return  to  Wavertree  ?" 

"  Not  long — a  week — perhaps  ten  days.  It  depends  on 
the  husiness  I  have  to  arrange.  At  all  events,  you  will  see 
me  again  before  very  long." 

They  were  joined  by  Adele ;  after  a  brief  adieu,  Malcolm 
hurried  on  the  steamer,  followed  by  his  servant,  and  was  rap- 
idly borne  down  the  Mississippi,  with  the  exulting  conviction 
in  his  mind  that  the  fastidious  sisters  were  both  securely  in 
his  power — one  through  a  love  that  betrayed  itself  in  every 
varying  expression  of  her  face,  the  other  through  her  fond 
affection  for  her  father. 

The  two  girls  walked  on,  and  Pauline  revealed  to  Adele 
precisely  what  Malcolm  wished  her  to  learn.  With  impas- 
sioned earnestness  she  related  how  generously  he  had  offered 
liis  aid  to  her  father,  at  a  moment  when  it  was  all-important 
to  him.  Adele  listened  with  deep  interest.  She  thought- 
fully asked, 

"  How  can  this  service  be  returned  ?  It  is  a  great  deal  for 
one  almost  a  stranger  to  us,  to  do,  Pauline." 

"A  stranger !  O,  Adele,  how  can  you  speak  thus  of  him 
who  has  nia-Je  himself  dear  to  every  heart  at  Watertree  ?" 
exclaimed  Pauline,  with  fervor. 

"  Still,  he  has  only  been  known  to  us  a  few  short  weeks. 
I  can  believe  that  you  love  him,  sister,  for  he  has  made 
steady  efforts  to  win  your  affection  ;  you  see  I  was  right  in 
the  opinion  I  expressed  wiien  we  last  spoke  together  of  Mr. 
Malcolm." 

"  Until  to-dav  I  never  dared  to  think  so,  Adele ;  but  half 


154  TUB   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

an  hour  since,  had  you  not  spoken  beneath  the  window,  the 
declaration  I  wish  yet  fear  to  hear,  would  have  been  made. 
I  saw  that  the  expression  of  his  feelings  trembled  on  his  lips ; 
but  the  sound  of  your  voice  called  us  both  back  to  this  world 
of  conventionalities.  We  joined  you,  and  he  left  unspoken 
those  words  which  must  have  influenced  my  fate  forever." 

"  Unlucky  mar-all  that  I  am !  What  perverse  fate  called 
me  there  at  that  particular  moment,  I  wonder  ?"  said  Adele, 
in  a  vexed  tone,  though  she  half  smiled  at  her  own  earnest- 
ness. She  added, 

"  Never  mind — the  words  will  yet  be  uttered,  dearest,  and 
I  shall  see  you  the  happy  wife  of  this  lordly  Malcolm." 

Had  Malcolm  seen  Pauline's  face  at  that  moment,  he  must 
have  thought  it  beautiful.  The  light  within  glowed  through 
the  plain  features,  illuminating  them  with  the  divine  glow  of 
happiness.  The  words  of  her  sister  sent  a  thrill  of  rapture 
through  her  veins.  His  wife — the  loved  companion  of  his 
life — the  partner  of  his  joys  and  sorrows !  There  was  bliss 
unutterable  in  the  thought ;  and  she  was  firmly  impressed 
with  the  belief  that  such  would  indeed  be  her  fortunate  lot. 
All  other  sorrows  were  as  gossamer  weights  to  her  now — and 
she  almost  felt  remorse  that  she  could  be  so  buoyantly  happy 
while  her  beloved  father  lay  upon  a  bed  of  suffering. 

Sweet  and  joyful  was  the  sisterly  communion  that  evening, 
as  they  strolled  along  the  margin  of  the  liver,  and  never  did 
the  declining  sun  fall  on  two  more  self-sacrificing,  and  gener- 
ous-hearted beings.  The  embarrassments  of  their  father  were 
fully  canvassed,  and  they  agreed  to  surrender  cheerfully  the 
outward  state  in  which  they  had  lived,  and  show  him  that 


155 

with  them  happiness  was  not  dependent  on  brilliant  display. 
A  pleasant  domestic  home  they  would  now  endeavor  to  make 
for  him,  embellished  by  their  own  talents  and  accomplish- 
ments. 

Their  true  friends  they  would  yet  be  able  to  receive,  and 
many  attractions  would  Wavertree  still  possess  for  the  culti- 
vated and  the  intellectual,  though  the  outward  glitter  of  pros- 
perity would  no  longer  allure  the  mere  worldly  seeker  after 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

FAR  different  were  the  feelings  of  Victor  when  informed 
of  the  change  in  his  father's  fortunes.  He  knew  and  felt  it 
to  be  a  death-blow  to  his  hope  of  calling  Louise  his  bride,  for 
he  felt  the  assurance  in  his  own  heart  that  Mrs.  Ruskin  would 
never  bestow  the  hand  of  her  beautiful  daughter  on  any  man 
who  could  not  afford  to  place  her  in  a  brilliant  home  of  her 
own. 

The  beau-ideal  of  life  to  both  himself  and  Louise,  was  to 
possess  a  sufficient  income  to  enable  them  to  live  in  New 
Orleans,  in  a  style  of  elegance  suited  to  their  extravagant 
tastes.  Hitherto,  he  had  not  doubted  for  a  moment  that  on 
his  marriage  his  father  would  double  his  munificent  allowance ; 
thus  securing  him  leisure  to  follow  every  fashionable  folly 
that  might  attract  him. 

In  place  of  this,  he  found  with  dismay  that  he  must  relin- 
quish the  greater  portion  of  what  he  had  hitherto  controlled, 
until  his  father  had  worked  himself  out  of  the  debts  that  had 
accumulated  against  him.  What  remained  to  him  seemed 
actual  poverty  to  one  who  never  denied  himself  any  grati- 
fication that  money  could  purchase. 

In  addition  to  this,  an  appalling  list  of  debts  arose  before 
his  mind,  recklessly  incurred,  in  the  belief  that  the  resources 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      157 

of  his  father  were  inexhaustible,  and  would  be  readily  applied 
to  their  liquidation.  Now,  Mr.  Harrington  was  not  likely  to 
possess  the  means  of  so  doing  very  soon,  and  Victor  knew 
that  at  the  first  rumor  of  a  change  in  fortune,  his  creditors 
would  become  clamorous  for  payment. 

Altogether,  Victor  was  as  unhappy  as  a  selfish  and  thor- 
oughly spoiled  young  man  could  be,  under  such  untoward 
circumstances.  At  the  first  whisper  of  financial  difficulties, 
Mrs.  Ruskin  seemed  to  grow  harder  and  colder  than  ever,  and 
her  manner  to  her  unhappy  nephew  became  almost  scornful. 
The  eyes  of  Louise  several  times  betrayed  that  she  had  wept 
bitterly,  but  even  in  her  manner  there  was  a  decided  change. 
Her  usual  wild  spirits  seemed  to  have  settled  down  into  a 
quiet  apathy  that  afforded  no  clew  to  her  true  feelings.  It 
was  quite  evident  to  Victor  that  she  had  decided  to  be  gov- 
erned by  her  mother ;  he  knew  this  rendered  her  unhappy, 
but  he  could  gain  from  her  no  positive  hope  for  the  future. 
She  would  give  him  no  pledge  to  refuse  such  proposals  as 
might  be  offered  her  in  the  years  that  must  now  inevitably 
elapse  before  they  could  be  united. 

Louise  insisted  that  she  must  retain  perfect  freedom  of 
action,  untrammeled  by  an  engagement  that  might,  after  all, 
never  end  in  marriage  ;  and  Victor  reproached  her  with  bit- 
terness for  her  want  of  faith  to  one  to  whom  she  had  pledged 
herself  in  prosperity. 

In  the  midst  of  this  scene,  her  mother  came  in,  and  her 
manner  showed  that  she  had  heard  much  that  had  passed. 
She  seated  herself,  and  said  in  her  haughtiest  tones, 

"  It  seems  to  me,  nephew,  that  in  place  of  seeking  an  inter- 


158      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

view  with  my  daughter,  for  the  purpose  of  inducing  her  to 
act  directly  contrary  to  my  wishes,  it  would  have  better  be- 
come a  man  of  honer  to  relinquish  such  hopes  as  past  encour- 
agement has  given  birth  to." 

"  You  sanctioned  those  hopes  yourself,  madame,"  said 
Victor,  passionately.  "  You  give  your  daughter  a  fine  lesson 
of  truth  and  probity,  when  you  speak  thus  to  her  betrothed 
husband." 

"  No,  Victor,  not  betrothed,  because  my  consent  had  neither 
been  asked,  nor  given." 

"It  has  been  tacitly  granted,  madame;  and  my  whole 
family  hold  you  as  much  bound  by  it  as  I  do." 

"It  matters  little  to  me  what  they  may  think,"  replied 
Mrs.  Ruskin,  with  heightened  color.  "  I  am  the  guardian  of 
my  daughter's  interests  and  happiness,  and — " 

Victor  impetuously  interrupted  her, 

"  Her  happiness,  do  you  say  ?  No — no— interest  alone  is 
the  word  to  use  there,  for  you  as  ruthlessly  trample  on  happi- 
ness as  if  hearts  are  of  no  more  worth  than  the  earth  on  which 
you  walk." 

"  Interest  let  it  be,  then,"  was  the  frigid  rejoinder.  "  Ana 
to  such  a  butterfly  as  Louise,  it  is  of  the  last  importance  that 
even  interest  shall  be  considered.  She  must  marry  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  secure  her  the  means  of  living  according  to  her 
tastes,  or  she  will  be  miserable,  and  render  her  husband  so 
too.  I  ask  you  if  it  is  fair,  to  ask  a  young  girl,  just  setting 
out  in  life,  with  such  advantages  as  Louise  possesses,  to  forego 
the  enjoyments  of  her  age,  and  settle  down  in  a  quiet  country 
house,  with  an  invalid  father,  of  broken  spirits  and  fortunes, 


159 

and  an  elderly  woman,  who  will  look  on  her  childish  follies  as 
serious  faults  ?" 

u  My  aunt  would  never  do  this,  for  she  has  soul  and  heart ; 
and  where  are  my  sisters  ?  Will  they  not  make  agreeable 
and  suitable  companions  for  my  wife  2" 

"  They  will  marry,  themselves  ;  the  sooner,  perhaps,  since 
times  are  changed,  and  the  gay  life  they  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  lead  is  now  ended  forever." 

"You  speak  unadvisedly,  madame.  My  father's  fortune 
only  suffers  under  a  temporary  eclipse.  At  no  very  distant 
day,  he  will  resume  his  old  style  of  living." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  nephew.  A  man  who  has  received 
such  a  lesson  as  your  father  is  taking  to  heart  even  now,  is 
likely  to  profit  by  it.  Besides,  there  is  an  old  adage  that 
*  misfortunes  never  come  single ;'  hitherto  your  father  has 
been  a  very  fortunate  man,  but  now  the  tide  has  turned,  and 
no  one  can  tell  whither  it  may  bear  him." 

Victor  grew  pale ;  after  a  silent  struggle,  he  said, 

"  I  see,  madame,  that  you  have  canvassed  every  contingency 
in  your  own  mind,  and  it  is  useless  to  attempt  to  move  you — 
but  I  warn  you  that  you  hold  a  human  destiny  in  your 
hands.  I  love  Louise  as  I  shall  never  love  another,  and  if  I 
become  a  loathing  and  a  curse  to  myself — a  disgrace  to  my 
family,  you  will  be  responsible  for  it  To  you  will  be  traced 
my  ruin." 

Mrs.  Ruskin  scornfully  retorted, 

"  Pooh !  are  you  a  man,  and  use  such  stupid  words  ? 
Say  rather  to  your  own  weakness  and  want  of  purpose  in  life, 

will  your  ruin  be  due.     Such  threats  move  me  not." 
11 


160  THE  PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  I  know  it,"  he  bitterly  answered.  "  Nothing  moves  you. 
I  know  that  I  am  weak — I  feel  it ;  and  so  much  the  greater 
should  be  your  dread  of  driving  me  to  desperation,  if  you 
possessed  the  sensibility  of  your  sex." 

During  this  colloquy,  Louise  had  sat  with  her  hands 
clasped  over  her  face.  At  this  juncture  she  arose,  and  tak- 
ing Victor's  hand,  she  pleadingly  said, 

"Mother,  we  are  both  very  young.  Let  us  wait.  Let 
us  see  the  result  of  my  uncle's  efforts  to  reinstate  himself. 
In  four  years  I  shall  only  be  twenty.  I  will  obey  your  will 
so  far  as  not  to  pledge  myself  formally  to  Victor.  Only 
suffer  things  to  remain  as  they  are,  and  all  may  come  out 
right." 

Victor's  words  and  his  wild  manner  had  made  some  im- 
pression on  his  aunt,  in  spite  of  her  scornful  reception  of  them. 
Mr.  Harrington  had  been  uniformly  kind  to  herself  and  her 
orphan  children,  and  Mrs.  Ruskin  felt  that  she  scarcely  dared 
to  drive  his  only  son  to  extremity.  After  a  pause  for  reflec- 
tion, she  ungraciously  said, 

H I  will  consent,  then,  that,  for  one  year,  this  silly  love  af- 
fair may  drag  along ;  and  at  the  end  of  that  time,  in  my 
opinion,  you  will  both  be  heartily  tired  of  it.  If  you  are  con- 
stant, and  affairs  go  smoothly  with  my  brother,  I  will  consider 
the  engagement  as  binding.  But  to  this  I  attach  one  impera- 
tive condition — " 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  Victor,  apprehensively. 

"  That  you  immediately  undertake  some  employment  by 
which  you  can  earn  your  own  living  and  become  independent 
of  your  father." 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  161 

The  thanks  that  trembled  on  the  lips  of  the  young  man  for 
the  concession  they  had  gained,  were  arrested  by  these  words. 
He  presently  stammered, 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  shall  learn  to  work,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Precisely.  Is  that  any  thing  surprising  ?  Did  not  God 
say  of  all  the  sons  of  Adam  that  they  should  gain  their  own. 
bread  by  the  sweat  of  the  brow  ?  Pray  what  entitles  you  to 
be  exempted  from  the  common  lot  ?" 

"  Because — I — I — really  know  of  nothing  for  which  I  am 
fitted,"  he  candidly  responded. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  smiled  grimly. 

"  The  more  shame  to  you  that  it  is  so.  I  suppose  then,  if 
poverty  actually  should  assail  you,  you  will  belong  to  that 
pitiable  class  who  are  'too  proud  to  beg,  to  dig  they  are 
ashamed,'  a  fragment  of  poetry  which  Meanness  and  Laziness 
have  quoted  innumerable  times  to  shelter  themselves  from  the 
odium  they  deserve.  What  does  it  mean  ?  That  you  must 
violate  God's  law,  and  commit  suicide,  to  escape  from  laboring 
for  the  support  of  the  life  he  has  given  you  ?  Or  must  you 
steal,  to  save  your  delicate  sensibility  from  the  shock  of  asking 
for  what  would  sustain  you  ?" 

She  had  talked  herself  into  something  like  vehemence,  and 
when  she  paused  to  take  breath,  Victor  feebly  said, 

"  Really,  aunt,  you  express  yourself  in  the  most  extraordi- 
nary manner.  I  suppose  if  I  must  work,  there  will  be 
enough  to  do  here  in  assisting  my  father  to  manage  this 
place." 

"  Your  father  has  an  efficient  overseer,  and  if  you  were  to 
take  his  place,  I  fancy  his  crops  would  not  be  benefited 


162  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

thereby,"  she  dryly  said.  "  No — you  are  only  fit  for  a  mer- 
cantile life,  and  I  shall  advise  that  your  father  shall  send  you 
to  New  Orleans  to  learn  book-keeping.  You  can  get  a  clerk- 
ship with  his  merchant,  who,  I  dare  say,  would  not  be  too 
hard  on  so  useless  a  young  gentleman  as  you  confess  yourself 
to  be,  before  you  have  time  to  learn  something  of  busi- 
ness." 

"  I  can  not  see  the  necessity  of  such  extreme  measures," 
faltered  poor  Victor.  "  My  father  is  not  absolutely  ruined, 
and  he  can  still  afford  rne  what  many  young  men  would  con- 
sider a  handsome  allowance." 

"  Your  allowance  is  more  than  sufficient,  in  my  opinion,  if 
your  own  wants  were  the  only  claims  on  it.  Can  you  not 
see  the  necessity  of  laying  aside  the  greater  portion  of  it,  in 
imitation  of  your  father,  to  pay  your  debts  ?" 

Victor  grew  crimson,  and  then  pale  beneath  the  searching 
glance  that  rested  on  him.  He  was  too  much  confused  to 
summon  words  for  an  immediate  reply,  and  she  went  on — 

"  You  surely  would  not  thrust  this  responsibility  on  your 
father  in  addition  to  all  he  has  to  bear  beside  ?" 

Victor  by  this  time  recovered  a  little  composure,  and  he 
asked, 

"How  do  you  know  that  such  debts  are  in  existence 
ma'am  ?  My  allowance  has  hitherto  been  very  liberal." 

"  So  much  the  greater  shame  to  you  that  you  have  ex- 
ceeded it.  I  know  that  debts  exist,  and  moreover,  that  they 
are  such  as  the  world  miscalls  debts  of  honor,  incurred  at  the 
gambling  table,  and  on  the  race-course." 

Victor  assumed  a  little  spirit — 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  163 

"  It  is  useless  to  taunt  me  with  what  all  others  of  my  caste 
practice,  ma'am.  I  will  think  of  what  you  have  said — " 

"  And  decide  as  I  wish,  or  I  retract  even  the  partial  con- 
sent I  have  given  to  the  tacit  engagement  you  desire.  Some 
nation  I  have  read  of,  required  the  lovers  of  their  daughters, 
however  wealthy,  or  high  in  station,  to  learn  some  handicraft 
by  which  they  could  gain  a  subsistence,  in  the  event  of  a 
reverse  of  fortune  ;  in  a  country  like  ours,  where  fortunes  are 
lost  and  won  with  magical  celerity,  I  think  it  is  an  example 
that  should  be  followed.  Show  that  you  can  exert  the  energy 
to  make  a  living,  and  I  shall  no  longer  withhold  my  consent 
to  your  union  with  Louise." 

The  young  girl  softly  whispered, 

"  For  my  sake,  Victor,  promise  any  thing" — and  the  poor 
victimized  young  man  looked  into  her  face,  and  replied  in  the 
same  subdued  tone, 

"  For  you,  I  can  bear  every  thing,  Louise.  Besides,  if  I  go 
to  New  Orleans,  I  shall  be  near  you,  and  can  see  you  often." 

This  was  the  only  gleam  of  consolation  to  him,  and  after 
parting  from  his  aunt  and  cousin,  he  strolled  into  his  father's 
room,  looking  as  gloomy  as  possible. 

This  was  the  third  day  from  Mr.  Harrington's  attack,  and 
he  was  able  to  sit  up  in  a  large  invalid  chair.  He  was  still 
pallid  from  loss  of  blood,  but  he  looked  animated,  and  almost 
cheerful.  Miss  Gertrude,  with  her  work  table,  was  seated  on 
one  side  of  the  fire,  and  on  a  low  seat  beside  her  father  sat 
Adele,  reading  aloud  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress."  Mr.  Har- 
rington called  this  his  sick  book,  because  when  he  was  indis- 
posed he  never  desired  to  hear  any  thing  beside  that  and  the 


164 

Bible  read  to  him.  His  room  was  decorated  with  engravings 
illustrating  the  various  scenes  in  the  Pilgrim's  trials,  and  over 
the  mantel  hung  a  beautiful  painting  representing  Mercy's 
dream. 

As  her  brother  entered,  Adele  laid  aside  her  book,  and 
looking  anxiously  at  him,  said, 

"  You  are  not  well,  Victor.  Take  care,  or  we  shall  have 
you  to  nurse  as  well  as  father." 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter  with  my  health,"  responded  the 
young  man,  moodily,  as  he  threw  himself  carelessly  on  a 
seat,  and  stretched  his  feet  toward  the  fire.  "  I  am  only  wea- 
ried with  the  silly  exactions  of  my  aunt.  She  must  think 
that  we  live  in  the  age  of  the  patriarchs,  when  it  was  the 
fashion  for  men  to  labor  seven  years  for  their  wives  before 
obtaining  them." 

His  father  half  smiled, 

"If  such  is  her  present  demand,  my  son,  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  never  call  Louise  daughter.  I  should  be  glad,  however, 
if  love  for  her  would  stimulate  you  to  exertion  of  any  kind. 
It  is  not  good  for  any  young  man  to  lead  a  life  of  indolent 
self-indulgence,  such  as  yours  has  been  since  your  return  from 
college." 

"M  tu,  Brute?  muttered  Victor,  sullenly,  and  then  he 
spoke  aloud.  "  I  scarcely  expected  you  to  take  sides  with 
Mrs.  Ruskin,  sir ;  though  I  have  consented  to  what  surprises 
myself." 

"  What  does  my  sister  desire  ?"  anxiously  inquired  Mr. 
Harrington. 

"  That  I  shall  go  to  New  Orleans,  and  seek  a  clerkship 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  165 

with  Messrs.  Hall,  with  a  view  of  learning  how  to  make 
my  own  living." 

His  father  reflected  a  few  moments,  and  then  said, 

"I  am  quite  willing.  I  commenced  life  as  a  merchant's 
clerk,  myself,  and  my  son  should  not  disdain  to  begin  as  his 
father  did.  A  wide  and  varied  field  of  information  is  open  to 
men  of  that  class,  especially  in  a  city  like  our  southern  em- 
porium. Remember  that  the  merchants  of  Italy  were  also 
her  princes,  and  that  it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  a 
man  is  mercenary  or  narrow-minded,  because  he  follows  such 
a  calling.  I  can  point  out  to  you  my  own  commission  mer- 
chant as  an  example  of  what  the  influence  of  our  institutions, 
and  a  fine  original  nature  combined,  may  produce.  Mr. 
Hall  went  to  New  Orleans,  poor  and  unknown ;  by  his 
own  energy  he  has  amassed  a  very  large  fortune,  and  besides 
many  acts  of  liberality  in  his  business  transactions,  his  annual 
charities  are  said  to  amount  to  not  less  than  thirty  thousand 
dollars.  Think  what  an  honor  it  would  be  to  emulate  the 
career  of  such  a  man." 

"True — but  he  was  old  and  gray-haired  before  he  pos- 
sessed the  means  of  enjoying  life.  Then,  its  zest  had  de- 
parted," replied  Victor,  discontentedly. 

"  He  labored  in  the  morning  of  life,  my  son,  that  his  noon 
and  evening  might  be  happy  and  honored.  He  had  a  pur- 
pose in  view  which  he  nobly  accomplished.  Think  how 
much  better  is  such  an  existence,  than  that  of  him  who 
makes  pleasure  alone  his  pursuit." 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  can  preach  very  well,  but  such  has  not  been 


166 

your  practice.  I  know  of  no  one  who  has  taken  his  own  ease 
more  than  you  have  done." 

"Victor,"  said  his  Aunt  Gertrude,  gravely,  "you  take  a 
great  liberty  when  you  speak  thus  to  your  father." 

"  Let  the  boy  say  what  he  thinks,  sister.  His  reproach 
touches  me  a  little,  I  confess ;  but  you  must  remember  this, 
Victor,  that  I  made  my  own  fortune  before  I  thought  of  en- 
joying ease  ;  and  neither  is  it  absolute  idleness  to  keep  every 
thing  in  order  on  a  plantation  like  this.  When  you  have 
won  for  yourself  what  will  purchase  a  third  of  its  value,  I 
shall  consider  you  entitled  to  take  to  yourself  the  otium  cum 
dignitate? 

"  Very  likely,  sir ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  as  old  as 
Methuselah  before  I  could,  by  my  own  exertions,  acquire  so 
much." 

"  Never  despair,  my  boy.  The  thought  of  labor  to  which 
we  have  been  unaccustomed  is  discouraging  to  the  mind ;  but 
when  once  disciplined  to  it,  both  interest  and  occupation  are 
found  in  details  that  were  once  repulsive.  Does  Mrs.  Ruskin 
wish  you  to  be  united  to  Louise,  and  live  with  her  instead  of 
at  Wavertree  ?" 

"  Heaven  defend  me  from  such  a  proposition !  I  am 
afraid  I  should  consider  even  Louise  a  hard  bargain  on 
such  terms.  No,  sir — she  insists  that  the  marriage  shall  be 
deferred  until  I  have  proved  my  capacity  to  take  care  of  a 
wife." 

"  I  can  not  think  that  she  is  very  far  wrong,  Victor.  A 
mother  risks  a  great  deal  in  giving  her  daughter  to  a  thrift- 
less young  man  of  fashion,  who  only  knows  the  value  of 


DAUGHTER.  167 

money  by  calculating  how  many  indulgences  it  will  purchase 
for  him.  Prove  your  devotion  to  Louise  by  winning  for 
yourself  the  reputation  of  an  industrious,  steady  young  man. 
Believe  me,  you  will  be  the  gainer  both  in  happiness  and  re- 
spectability." 

This  reasoning  might  be  very  convincing,  but  it  was  not 
very  consoling  to  one  who  had  never  before  given  a  thought 
to  the  necessity  of  providing  for  his  own  wants ;  and  in  the 
deep  heart  of  Victor,  lurked  the  unexpressed  conviction  that 
he  was  one  of  that  unhappy  class  who  do  not  possess  the  re- 
quisite strength  to  struggle  against  difficulties  and  overcome 
them.  "  Unstable  as  water,  thou  shalt  not  excel,"  came  to  his 
mind  as  a  prophecy,  and  his  weak  soul  almost  fainted  within 
him  at  the  thought  of  the  untried  path  before  him.  He  arose 
and  said, 

"  I  will  think  of  all  you  have  said,  sir,  and  in  the  meantime 
I  will  thank  you  to  write  to  Mr.  Hall  and  ascertain  if  there  is 
an  opening  in  his  establishment  for  me." 

"  I  will,  my  dear  boy ;  and  may  Heaven  bless  you.  for  so 
readily  accommodating  yourself  to  the  change  in  our  circum- 
btaL,ces.  It  will,  I  truly  believe,  be  an  advantage  to  you  to 
try  your  fortune  in  the  great  warfare  of  life.  I  possess  the 
power  to  place  you  advantageously,  and  I  need  scarcely  say  it 
will  be  fully  used  for  your  benefit." 

**  Thank  you,  sir ;  I  will  endeavor  to  be  as  grateful  to  you 
as  I  should ;  but  I  believe,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  no  son 
ever  went  forth  from  his  father's  roof  more  unwillingly  to  try 
his  fortune  than  I  do.  In  the  end  I  may  prove  victor,  but  I 
am  sadly  afraid  I  shall  lose  all  in  the  race." 


168  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 


' 


"  Do  not  cherish  such  despondent  feelings,  my  son.     Re- 
mber  that  Louise  is  to  be  your  reward." 


"I  do  remember  that,  sir,  or  I  should  never  have  courage 
to  make  the  attempt." 

"  I  have  great  hopes  for  you,  Victor,  if  you  cherish 
such  love  for  your  betrothed.  It  is  a  holy  and  noble 
motive ;  one  that  I  believe  will  bring  energy  and  com- 
fort to  you  in  many  a  dark  hour,  and  secure  success  at  the 
last." 

"  I  trust  so,  though  I  have  many  dark  misgivings  myself," 
rejoined  the  discontented  young  man  ;  and  he  left  the  room, 
wearing  a  brow  of  gloom,  which  even  the  sight  of  Louise  in 
the  yard  did  not  remove.  He  joined  her,  and  they  walked 
together  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon,  discussing  their  future 
plans  in  a  mood  that  was  far  from  resigned  to  the  change  in 
their  prospects. 

Louise  was  too  wayward  and  too  uncertain  of  her  own 
constancy,  to  give  much  consolation  to  her  lover ;  and  Victor 
bitterly  felt  that  to  cling  to  a  belief  in  her  truth,  was  like  the 
frail  straw  on  which  the  drowning  man  clasps  his  frantic  hold ; 
yet  so  weakly  infatuated  was  he,  that  he  could  not  relinquish 
even  that. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MALCOLM  found  the  business  he  had  undertaken  to 
manage  was  in  a  much  more  complicated  condition  than 
he  expected.  The  abduction  of  Withers'  accounts  caused 
inevitable  losses  to  himself,  for  the  murdered  man  had 
long  been  his  trusted  agent,  in  his  frequent  absences  from 
the  city. 

Week  after  week  rolled  by,  and  he  was  still  detained  in 
New  Orleans,  though  he  frequently  wrote  to  the  inmates  of 
Wavertree,  and  always  in  such  a  manner  as  to  induce  the 
deluded  Pauline  to  believe  that  his  chief  anxiety  was  to 
return  on  her  account ;  though  he  did  not  actually  commit 
himself. 

Malcolm  sought  an  early  interview  with  Messrs.  Hall  and 
informed  them  of  the  transfer  Mr.  Harrington  wished  made, 
and  also  of  his  own  readiness  to  pay  over  to  them  negotiable 
paper  for  the  sum  recently  advanced  by  them.  They  mani- 
fested some  surprise  at  this,  and  the  senior  partner  inquired, 

"Do  you  advance  the  whole  of  this  sum  yourself,  Mr. 
Malcolm  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  have  extensive  business  relations  with  Mr. 
Harrington,  and  he  finds  it  more  convenient  to  suffer  me  to 
hold  the  mortgage ;  especially,  as  I  may  soon  stand  in  such  a 


170  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

position  toward  him  as  to  render  it  to  our  mutual  interest  to 
clear  the  place  of  debt  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Hem — that  alters  the  case,  certainly,  and  we  are  glad  to 
get  back  this  large  advance  so  soon.  But  what  guaranty  do 
you  offer  that  the  older  claims  we  hold  against  Mr.  Harring- 
ton shall  be  liquidated  ?" 

"  I  am  also  authorized  by  him  to  pledge  to  you  the  sum  of 
six  thousand  dollars  annually  from  his  crops,  until  the  whole 
is  paid." 

"I  hope  Mr.  Harrington  does  not  think  we  would  have 
proved  hard  creditors  ?  I  know  Charlie  Harrington  of  old, 
and  a  more  liberal  heart  never  beat  in  a  man's  bosom.  He 
is  among  the  last  that  I  should  feel  inclined  to  be  hard  with." 

"  I  believe  he  fully  understands  that :  but  he  wishes  earn- 
estly to  clear  himself  of  debt  as  soon  as  practicable;  and 
there  is  a  family  arrangement  between  us  which  enables  me 
to  assist  him  efficiently." 

He  half  smiled,  and  Mr.  Hall  said, 

"  I  may  congratulate  you  then,  on  a  more  favorable  fate 
than  has  befallen  many  others.  The  fair  sisters  of  Wavertree 
have  often  been  wooed,  but  this  is  the  first  hint  I  have  heard 
that  either  one  has  been  won.  May  I  ask  which  is — " 

At  that  moment  a  clerk  came  in  with  a  communication  of 
importance  for  the  chief,  and  to  the  infinite  relief  of  Malcolm., 
he  turned  his  attention  to  it  at  once.  It  would  have  been 
rather  embarrassing  to  reply  to  the  query  Mr.  Hall  was 
about  to  utter,  as  there  was  as  yet  no  positive  certainty  that 
either  sister  would  ever  be  his  wife. 

When  the  merchant  had  despatched  the  business,  he  turned 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  171 

•with  his  mercantile  air  to  Malcolm,  evidently  oblivious  of 
every  thing  save  the  matter  in  hand.     He  said  briefly, 

"  I  consent  to  the  transfer  you  propose,  Mr.  Malcolm,  since 
it  is  the  wish  of  Mr.  Harrington.  We  will  be  ready  at  any 
time  to  go  through  with  the  details  necessary  to  complete  it." 

Malcolm  named  an  hour  on  the  following  morning  for  a 
final  settlement,  well  pleased  with  the  result  of  the  interview. 
From  there  he  proceeded  to  the  office  of  one  of  the  principal 
papers  in  the  city  in  which  he  had  caused  an  advertisement  to 
be  inserted  to  the  effect  that  if  the  person  who  possessed  the 
accounts  of  the  murdered  Withers,  would  cause  them  to  be 
left  at  that  office,  all  further  inquiry  into  the  affair  would  be 
dropped. 

As  the  police  had  utterly  failed  to  obtain  a  clew  to  that 
mysterious  assassination,  Malcolm  believed  that  the  offer 
might  produce  what  he  desired,  and  as  he  seemed  likely  to 
be  the  chief  sufferer  from  the  heavy  robbery  then  committed, 
considered  himself  at  liberty  to  quash  the  proceedings  which 
promised  no  effectual  result. 

On  entering  the  sanctum  of  the  editor,  he  found  him  seated 
at  his  table  with  a  voluminous  package  before  him  which  he 
was  preparing  to  open.  He  nodded  toward  a  seat,  as  he 
said, 

"  See  what  we^oor  devils  of  editors  have  to  undergo. 
Here  is  a  correspondent,  now,  who  must  think  we  have  an 
immense  amount  of  spare  time,  and  more  patience  than  even 
fel1  to  the  lot  of  Job,  to  wade  through  such  a  mass  of  matter 
as  is  here." 

"  I  only  wish  it  would  prove  what  I  am  so  anxious  to  gain,11 


1*72  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

replied  Malcolm;  "I  would  gladly  undergo  the  labor  of 
looking  over  every  page." 

"  Yes,  they  would  repay  you,  but  in  all  likelihood  I  shall 
only  have  the  trouble  without  any  profit.  'Tis  not  every 
article  that  comes  to  a  publisher's  sanctum  that  is  worth 
the  carriage." 

While  he  thus  spoke,  he  cut  the  strings  and  broke  the 
seals  of  the  package.  The  contents  scattered  over  the  table, 
and  Malcolm  started  up,  exclaiming, 

"  By  Jove !  there  is  a  paper  bearing  in  large  letters, '  For 
Edward  Malcolm,  Esq.'  They  are  mine,  they  are  the  accounts 
of  that  unfortunate  wretch,  Withers,  for  which  I  adver- 
tised." 

"  Very  true,"  replied  the  other,  "  and  several  of  them  bear 
the  marks  of  bloody  fingers,  as  if  wet  with  the  blood  yet 
warm  from  the  heart  of  the  murdered  man.  Pah !  take 
them  away." 

Malcolm  hastily  gathered  them  up,  and  examined  them 
with  sparkling  eyes.  Not  one  in  which  he  was  interested  was 
missing;  but  among  them  were  several  that  puzzled  him; 
for  well  as  he  had  known  Withers,  he  had  not  been  aware 
that  he  had  a  daughter.  There  were  bills  for  tuition  and 
clothing,  dated  so  recently  that  he  concluded  the  child  must 
still  be  at  the  same  school. 

He  immediately  took  an  omnibus  for  the  lower  part  of  the 
city,  and  was  soon  set  down  at  the  corner  nearest  to  Madame 
S 's  seminary  for  young  ladies.  On  ringing,  he  was  im- 
mediately ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  principal,  a  small, 
dark  woman,  of  bustling  manner,  and  sharp  voice.  She  re- 


173 

ceived  him  with  great  politeness,  and  inquired  if  he  wished  to 
place  a  new  pupil  with  her. 

"  No,  madame,"  he  replied ;  "  my  business  rather  is  to  see 
an  old  pupil  of  yours.  Is  Mademoiselle  Withers  still  with 
you  ?" 

"  Ah  !  bon  Dieu !"  exclaimed  the  excitable  woman.  "  Is  it 
to  see  Mademoiselle  Withers  you  really  came,  monsieur  ?  I 
am  afraid  she  will  not  soon  again  be  seen  by  any  of  her 
friends." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  madame  ?  Is  the  little  girl  no  longer 
with  you  ?" 

"  No,  monsieur ;  and  it  is  a  great  mystery  what  has  be- 
come of  her.  She  left  here  to  go  into  the  country  with  her 
father  the  day  he  was  killed,  and  since  then  she  has  never 
been  heard  of." 

"You  amaze  me,  ma'am.  Have  you  caused  diligent  in- 
quiry to  be  made  after  her  ?" 

"  0  yes.  My  teacher  of  drawing,  who  was  fond  of  the 
little  brown  creature,  went  to  the  house  herself  when  we 
saw  the  account  of  the  terrible  murder  in  the  papers ;  but 
all  her  inquiries  only  elicited  the  fact  that  her  father  had 
taken  her  away  in  a  carriage  soon  after  she  reached  his  res- 
idence." 

"  Could  not  the  number  of  the  carriage  be  ascertained  ?  A 
clew  might  thus  have  been  furnished." 

"  No,  sir — we  lost  all  trace  of  her  there  ;  and  as  we  could 
not  afford  to  go  to  any  expense  about  it,  we  concluded  to  let 
the  matter  drop." 

"  And  the  child's  fate  is  still  a  mystery  ?" 


"Yes,  monsieur — so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  a  profound 
one.  Are  you  a  relative  ?" 

"  No.  Only  a  friend  of  her  deceased  father.  I  have  been 
absent  from  town,  and  after  my  return  I  thought  it  right  to 
look  after  the  little  girl." 

"  Very  true,  monsieur.  I  am  sorry  I  can  afford  you  no  in- 
formation. I  shall  be  very  glad  to  know  what  has  become  of 
her  myself,  for  she  was  a  quiet,  obedient  pupil." 

Completely  mystified  himself  as  to  why  the  child  was  re- 
moved at  such  a  crisis,  Malcolm  took  his  leave,  and  slowly 
walked  toward  the  busier  portion  of  the  city. 

It  was  late  when  he  regained  his  own  apartments ;  and  he 
shut  himself  up  with  the  papers  of  the  doftd  man,  to  examine 
them  thoroughly,  hoping  thus  to  gain  a  clew  to  the  probable 
whereabouts  of  his  daughter.  Withers  possessed  an  interest 
in  some  of  their  joint  speculations,  which,  in  the  event  of  suc- 
cess, would  probably  amount  to  a  few  thousand  dollars,  and 
he  felt  it  to  be  only  just  that  his  child  should  be  sought  out, 
and  receive  the  benefit  of  them. 

Though  Malcolm  wove  his  nets  so  skillfully  around  unsus- 
picious Mr.  Harrington,  to  get  him  completely  in  his  power, 
for  the  accomplishment  of  his  own  ulterior  objects,  he  was 
neither  grasping  nor  dishonest ;  and  he  would  have  been  un- 
willing to  possess  himself  of  this  property  to  which  a  helpless 
minor  had  a  claim. 

As  he  scanned  the  various  memoranda,  his  brow  grew  dark, 
and  more  than  once  muttered  exclamations  escaped  him. 
At  length  the  book  which  Withers  had  looked  over  with  so 
much  interest  on  the  morning  before  his  assassination,  fell 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      175 

into  his  hands,  and  with  amazement  he  read  such  proofs  as 
convinced  him  that  his  trustworthy  agent  had  long  meditated 
an  extensive  fraud  of  which  he  himself  might  have  become 
the  ultimate  victim,  had  not  the  large  sum  of  money  thrown 
into  his  hands  proved  a  temptation  too  great  to  be  resisted. 
From  the  moment  this  belief  was  settled  in  his  mind,  Malcolm 
sought  among  the  papers  for  further  proof.  A  card  presently 
came  up  with  the  name  of  the  ship  Euterpe  on  it,  and  also 
the  landing  opposite  to  which  she  lay,  apparently  intended  as 
a  direction  for  a  trunk. 

The  certificate  of  the  investment  of  stocks  in  the  name 
of  Charles  Hamilton  was  missing.  The  robbers  had  appro- 
priated that,  but  the  name  occurred  several  times,  scribbled 
on  some  of  the  papers,  apparently  in  a  fit  of  absence  of 
mind. 

Malcolm  was  an  acute  reasoner  and  a  keen  observer.  He 
carefully  placed  all  these  facts  together,  and  then  sought  for 
the  newspapers  which  had  accumulated  in  his  absence.  They 
had  been  carefully  filed  by  his  servant,  and,  on  turning  to  the 
date  of  Withers'  death,  he  looked  down  the  list  of  shipping, 
and  found  among  the  vessels  cleared  on  that  day,  the  Eu- 
terpe, bound  for  Havre.  His  rapid  mind  came  to  the  accu- 
rate conclusion  that  on  this  ship  Withers  had  placed  his 
daughter,  together  with  Mr.  Harrington's  money,  intending 
to  sail  in  her  himself;  that  he  was  forced  to  return  to  ar- 
range other  business,  and  met  his  fate. 

On  the  return  of  the  Euterpe  he  would  make  such  inquiries 
as  must  lead  to  the  knowledge  of  what  he  desired  to  ascer- 
tain. We  may  as  well  mention  here  that  on  the  arrival  of 
12 


176 

the  Euterpe  in  port,  Malcolm  visited  her ;  ascertained  that 
his  suspicions  were  correct,  and  carefully  noted  down  the 
name  of  Grace  Withers*  protectress,  together  with  the  feigned 
name  by  which  Withers  had  registered  himself  and  his 
daughter.  He  could  gain  no  certainty  concerning  the 
money,  and  it  was  still  doubtful  whether  it  had  been  trans- 
ferred to  the  vessel  with  his  daughter,  or  whether  it  had 
fallen  a  prey  to  the  robbers. 

All  these  facts  Malcolm  kept  carefully  to  himself.  He  did 
not  wish  to  furnish  a  hint  to  Mr.  Harrington  by  which  he 
might  eventually  recover  his  property.  Should  Adele  prove 
propitious  to  his  suit,  when  she  was  once  his  own,  he  could 
follow  the  clew  thus  ingeniously  obtained,  and  possibly  regain 
the  money. 

He  wished  to  obtain  the  entire  control  of  Mr.  Harrington's 
affairs,  and  with  the  implicit  confidence  reposed  in  him,  noth- 
ing seemed  easier  than  to  do  so,  especially  if  the  old  adage 
should  with  him  prove  true,  that  "  misfortunes  never  come 
single."  With  sanguine  expectation  Mr.  Harrington  looked 
upon  the  future  as  certain  to  release  him  from  this  temporary 
embarrassment — the  chances  of  failure  in  his  crops,  or  any 
other  casualty  which  could  affect  his  ability  to  fulfill  his  en- 
gagements, had  scarcely  entered  into  his  calculations  at  all ; 
.  but  the  more  astute  mind  of  Malcolm  contemplated  all  these 
possibilities,  and  he  felt  that  each  one  added  a  new  link  to 
the  chain  he  had  so  subtly  woven  around  him. 

Their  joint  speculations  were  in  Malcolm's  name,  and 
should  Adele  finally  refuse  his  offered  hand  in  spite  of  the 
influences  brought  to  bear  their  evil  weight  upon  the  fortunes 


177 

of  her  family,  he  could  retain  a  sufficient  portion  of  their 
proceeds  to  indemnify  himself  for  the  advance  he  had  made. 
Thus  responsible  to  no  one  save  God  and  his  own  conscience, 
Malcolm  possessed  the  power  to  bring  ruin  and  desolation 
into  a  family  which  so  lately  was  prosperous,  united,  and 
happy. 

If  the  schemer  felt  remorse,  it  was  silenced  by  the  thought 
that  Adele  could  avert  the  threatened  ruin:  could  render 
him  an  efficient  co-worker  with  her  father,  if  she  would  only 
speak  the  magic  words  that  would  bind  her  to  him  forever. 
If  she  refused,  Lt  the  misfortunes  of  those  she  loved  come  to 
her  as  a  life-long  reproach ;  selfish  and  hard  of  heart  must 
that  daughter  be  who  could  refuse  to  rescue  her  family  from 
ruin  even  by  the  sacrifice  he  demanded.  Should  Adele  prove 
thus  obdurate,  let  desolation  come  to  their  once  happy  home : 
let  them  sink  into  the  oblivion  of  poverty. 

What  cared  he?  He  could  so  manage  as  to  avert  re- 
proach from  his  own  name,  and  the  hollow  world  would  still 
smile  upon  the  prosperous  and  fascinating  speculator,  as  be- 
fore. Malcolm  believed  that  should  this  disappointment  in- 
deed be  his,  it  would  seal  up  the  only  human  spot  in  his 
heart.  Henceforth,  with  the  flowers  of  life  withered,  he 
would,  like  a  second  Midas,  turn  all  he  touched  to  gold,  and 
in  time,  become  himself  as  hard  and  impassive  as  the  metal 
itself. 

While  he  thus  mused  with  bent  brows,  and  writhing  lips, 
a  knock  came  to  his  door,  and  without  troubling  himself  to 
rise,  he  said, 

"  Come  in." 


178 

The  door  was  opened  with  a  jerk,  and  Nevin  entered  with 
a  careless,  familiar  air. 

"  Found  you  at  last,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  as  he  threw  him- 
self full  length  on  two  chairs.  "  Where  on  earth  have  you 
been  keeping  yourself  this  age  ?  I  have  seen  you  in  none  of 
our  usual  haunts,  for  many  days  past." 

"  I  have  been  busy — you  know  I  have  recovered  the  ac- 
counts I  was  so  anxious  about,  and  they  have  given  me  a 
great  deal  to  attend  to." 

"  Ah  yes ;  don't  speak  of  them.  It  gives  me  the  blues  to 
talk  of  murdered  men's  affairs.  By  the  way  do  you  know 
that  Madame  Stiff  and  her  daughter  have  returned  to  the 
city?" 

"  Who  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  WTiy  the  Ruskins  to  be  sure.  Don't  you  know  the  duti- 
ful Louise  bestows  that  very  appropriate  name  on  her  stately 
mamma  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Ruskin  is  then  in  town  ?'  asked  Malcolm  with  some 
anxiety.  "When  did  she  come  down,  and  why  did  I  not 
hear  from  Wavertree  by  her  ?" 

"  Because  there  was  nobody  to  write,  I  suppose.  Pauline 
was  slightly  indisposed.  Mr.  Harrington  is  about  again,  but 
very  busy  with  his  plantation  affairs ;  anxious  about  the 
amount  of  his  crops,  I  fancy.  It  is  well  for  some  men  to 
have  a  little  care  thrust  on  them  sometimes,  aud  he  has  en- 
joyed the  dolcefar  niente  long  enough  in  all  conscience." 

"  Pooh !  you  're  only  envious,  Nevin.  And  the  rest  of  the 
family?  What  of  them?" 

"  I  do  not  suppose  that  you  are  particularly  interested  in 


179 

the  dandy  exquisite,  but  I  really  must  tell  you  something 
new  of  him.  He  has  actually  made  up  his  mind  to  do  some- 
thing useful,  and  he  has  come  hither  to  enter  Messrs.  Halls' 
commission  house  as  a  clerk.  An  efficient  one  he  is  likely  to 
prove.  I  wish  his  employers  joy  in  their  acquisition — don't 
you  ?" 

"  That  is  something  unexpected.  What  motive  prompted 
him  to  it.  Can  you  imagine  ?" 

"  Love  for  Louise  Ruskin,  I  fancy ;  for  the  little  gipsy  told 
me  that  her  mother  insisted  on  his  learning  some  means  of 
making  his  bread,  or  she  would  not  permit  him  to  address 
her  daughter." 

"  Miss  Ruskin  must  be  very  communicative,"  said  Malcolm, 
contemptuously.  "I  do  not  fancy  that  Victor  would  be 
much  flattered  by  this  confidence." 

"0  as  to  that,  I  have  known  Louise  all  her  life,  and  I  can 
get  any  secret  out  of  her  that  I  wish  to  find  out.  I  was  half 
in  love  with  her  myself,  before  I  saw  that  enchanting  cousin 
of  hers — and  I  don't  know  but  I  may  end  by  being  seriously 
involved  yet.  There  is  something  wonderfully  attractive  to 
me  in  the  gayety  and  beauty  of  this  girl." 

"  You  have  only  to  speak,  and  the  mother  will  be  on  your 
side.  Money  is  evidently  what  Mrs.  Ruskin  seeks  for  her 
daughter,  and  you  have  enough  of  that  But  I  believe  the 
girl  herself  likes  Harrington." 

"  Pooh  !  it  is  only  a  childish  flirtation  on  her  side.  He  is 
serious  enough,  but  that  giddy  child  never  yet  had  an  earnest 
emotion  in  her  life.  I  am  only  speculating  now,  however,  for 
I  have  sometimes  thought  if  this  involvement  of  Mr.  Har- 


180 

ringlon  ends  in  ruin,  the  beauty  may  not  prove  so  obdurate 
to  a  wooer  who  carries  fortune  in  his  hand,  as  she  once  was." 

He  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  face  of  Malcolm  as  he  thus 
spoke,  as  if  seeking  to  read  his  soul.  The  slight  start  he 
gave,  and  the  sudden  knitting  of  his  brows,  gave  Nevin  a 
clew  to  what  he  had  earnestly  desired  to  fathom.  He  uttered 
a  forced  laugh,  as  he  added, 

"  Ah-h — I  have  found  something  that  will  move  you  at 
last.  I  never  saw  your  face  change  under  emotion  before, 
Malcolm.  Excuse  me — but  this  is  really  too  good." 

Malcolm  regarded  him  with  chilling  composure, 

"  I  do  not  comprehend  you.  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
explain  your  meaning  ?" 

"  0  hang  it !  Put  off  that  face,  now.  You  and  I  know 
each  other  too  well  to  practice  that  sort  of  humbug.  I  have 
only  discovered  what  all  our  friends  have  been  speculating 
about  for  weeks  past ;  which  one  of  the  sisters  has  captivated 
you  ?  The  world  says  it  is  Pauline,  but  I  say  that  Adele  has 
fascinated  you  as  she  does  every  one  else ;  but  you  are  too 
cautious  to  let  others  see  it  until  you  are  sure  of  your  ground." 

"  Your  judgments  are  not  always  correct,  Nevin,"  replied 
Malcolm,  coldly,  "  and  I  beg  that  you  will  keep  your  surmises 
to  yourself,  as  I  do  not  wish  my  affairs  canvassed  by  those 
who  have  no  personal  interest  in  them." 

"Neither  does  any  one  else,  but  it  is  nevertheless  done 
«*very  day  by  our  dear  five  hundred  friends.  By  the  way, 
jvhen  mentioning  the  rest  of  the  family  I  forgot  to  say  that 
Adele's  time  is  taken  up  with  a  new  lover,  and  one  who  seems 
:n  a  fair  way  to  win  where  the  rest  of  us  have  failed." 


181 

This  time,  Malcolm  turned  his  head  away,  pretending  to  be 
searching  for  something,  but  really  to  avoid  the  scrutinizing 
gaze  he  felt  was  upon  him.  A  pang  of  mortal  jealousy 
wrung  his  proud  heart,  though  he  only  half  believed  the  as- 
sertion of  Nevin.  He  carelessly  said, 

"  This  too,  is  a  portion  of  Miss  Louise  Ruskin's  information, 
I  suppose  ?" 

"  No — Louise  cares  very  little  about  any  body's  lovers  but 
her  own.  Her  mother  told  me  of  a  young,  interesting,  and 
highly  cultivated  guest,  who  comes  from  Virginia  on  a  visit 
to  Wavertree.  He  is  a  distant  connection  of  the  family,  and 
feeble  health  demanded  a  change  of  climate.  Philip  Evelyn 
has  delicate  lungs,  and  the  vapor  from  the  boiling  sugar  has 
been  prescribed  for  his  restoration." 

Malcolm  listened  to  these  details  with  repressed  eagerness. 
With  assumed  carelessness,  he  asked, 

"  And  Adele  ?  What  has  she  to  do  with  this  guest  more 
than  any  other  that  has  ever  visited  Wavertree  ?" 

"  Only  that  she  seems  more  fascinated  by  this  young  man, 
than  by  any  who  has  gone  before.  She  walks  with  him — 
they  read,  together,  books  which  he  recommends  to  her  pe- 
rusal— in  short,  they  seem  quite  charmed  with  each  other's 
society." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Ruskin  assert  that  from  her  own  observation !" 

"  Yes,  with  her  own  facile  tongue.  She  thought  she  was 
crushing  my  tender  aspirations  in  that  quarter,  I  know.  But 
thank  Heaven,  I  am  no  longer  so  verdant  as  to  cherish  any. 
You  may  win  and  wear  her,  if  you  can,  Malcolm." 

"  Thank  you ;  you  are  generous  to  give  away  that  to  which 


182      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

f 
you  have  no  claim,"  was  the  sarcastic  rejoinder.     "  It  seems 

very  absurd  that  a  man  of  business  like  myself,  can  not  visit 
Wavertree  on  matters  of  interest  alone,  without  being  in- 
volved, by  common  gossip,  in  a  love  affair  with  one  or  the 
other  of  the  young  ladies.  You  should  be  sufficiently  a  man 
of  the  world  to  know  that  with  us,  love  and  love-making  are 
only  the  interludes  in  existence,  not  its  business." 

Nevin  listened  skeptically. 

"  And  you  would  really  persuade  me  that  you  are  not  fasci- 
nated by  either  of  those  fair  sisters  ?  Well,  I  can  play  the 
blind  friend,  if  it  suits  you,  especially  as  I  have  no  particular 
interest  in  fathoming  your  secrets." 

He  arose,  and  consulted  his  watch. 

"  It  is  nearly  eight  o'clock.  I  am  going  to  call  at  Mrs. 
Ruskin's  for  the  amiable  purpose  of  making  Harrington  as 
jealous  as  Othello.  It  is  real  fun  to  flirt  with  such  a  girl  as 
Louise — she  plays  into  one's  hand  so  finely,  and  enters  so 
completely  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing.  Won't  you  go  ?" 

Malcolm  muttered  something  that  was  not  very  intelligible, 
but  after  a  moment's  hesitation  he  took  up  his  hat,  and  they 
went  out  together.  A  walk  of  a  few  squares  brought  them 
in  front  of  an  imposing  looking  city  house,  on  the  brass 
door-plate  of  which,  in  large  letters,  was  the  name  of  Mrs. 
Ruskin. 

The  visitors  were  promptly  admitted,  and  received  by  that 
lady  and  her  daughter  with  great  cordiality.  On  their  en- 
trance, they  found  Louise  seated  at  the  piano,  over  which 
leaned  Victor  Harrington,  watching  the  play  of  her  white 
fingers,  as  they  glanced  over  the  ivory  keys,  and  speculating 


183 

in  rather  a  melancholy  mood  on  the  chances  of  ever  becom- 
ing the  possessor  of  the  fair  hand  to  which  they  belonged. 

She  sprang  up  with  her  characteristic  vivacity,  and  began 
her  usual  lively  chatter.  Nevin  answered  her  in  her  own 
strain,  and  soon  the  moody  Victor,  with  savage  heart,  and 
watchful  eyes,  beheld  his  best-loved  cousin  Louise  apparently 
charmed  by  the  flattery  her  visitor  contrived  to  mingle  with 
his  trifling.  Once  the  unhappy  lover  ventured  a  whispered 
remonstrance  in  rather  a  fierce  tone,  but  Louise  cavalierly 
replied, 

"  Nonsense — you  are  so  dull  yourself  that  you  make  no 
effort  to  amuse  me,  and  then  get  angry  if  any  one  else  takes 
that  trouble." 

Victor  shrank  away,  and  soon  after  took  leave,  an  unhappy 
victim  to  anger  and  jealousy. 

In  the  meantime,  Malcolm  devoted  himself  to  Mrs.  Ruskin, 
and,  for  his  reward,  obtained  all  the  information  from  Waver- 
tree  that  he  desired. 

There  really  was  a  young  relative  there  on  a  visit,  which 
would  probably  extend  through  the  winter.  Philip  Evelyn 
was  a  cousin  so  distant  that  no  other  people  except  Virgin- 
ians would  think  of  claiming  the  relationship.  In  this  case, 
however,  there  were  ties  of  friendship  which  bound  Mr.  Har- 
rington to  his  father  in  the  days  of  his  youth  ;  and  when  he 
learned  that  Mr.  Evelyn's  most  promising  son  was  threatened 
with  consumption,  he  cordially  invited  him  to  spend  the 
winter  in  his  family  to  try  the  benefit  of  a  more  southern 
climate. 

Mrs.  Buskin,  from  motives  of  her  own,  went  on  to  say  that 


184 

from  the  first  day  of  his  arrival  he  had  admired  Adele,  and 
she  showed  more  interest  in  his  society  than  was  at  all  usual 
with  her.  The  delicacy  of  his  appearance,  probably,  elicited 
her  womanly  sympathies,  and,  as  before,  Adele  might  be 
fancy  free ;  but  of  this  Mrs.  Ruskin  had  her  doubts — her 
niece  was  not  demonstrative,  and  her  solicitude  for  the  welfare 
of  the  invalid  betrayed  a  great  deal. 

Malcolm  listened  with  calm  brow,  and  smiling  lip,  but 
rage  was  in  his  heart,  when  he  bowed  over  her  hand,  and, 
with  Nevin,  took  his  departure.  Why  had  he  delayed  his 
return  to  Wavertree  so  long  ?  he  asked  himself.  Why  had 
he  not  put  in  his  claims  before  another  had  won  an  in- 
terest in  her  heart?  He  would  lose  no  more  time — he 
would  go  at  once  and  use  his  power  to  compel  her  to  be 
his. 

With  this  fixed  determination  he  went  home,  to  make 
preparations  for  an  early  departure. 

The  door  had  no  sooner  closed  on  her  visitors,  than  Mrs. 
Ruskin  sharply  said, 

"  Louise,  you  certainly  possess  less  judgment  than  any  sane 
girl  I  ever  met.  Here  you  have  flirted  and  talked  nonsense 
with  Mr.  Nevin  in  the  very  presence  of  Mr.  Malcolm,  when 
you  know  my  wishes  in  that  quarter.*' 

"  Set  your  heart  at  rest,  ma,  and  spare  your  manoeuvres,  for 
that  man  of  adamant  is  never  going  to  seek  such  a  little 
nobody  as  I  am.  I  have  more  sense  ^bout  some  things  than 
you  give  me  credit  for.  My  destiny  lies  between  poor  Victor 
and  Mr.  Nevin.  One  is  desperately  in  love  with  me,  and,  if  I 
choose,  I  can  lead  the  other  on  to  make  a  proposal ;  but  I 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  185 

will  wait  to  see  how  my  forlorn  cousin  comes  out  in  his  trial ; 
if  he  fails — and  I  am  sure  I  hope  the  poor  fellow  will  not,  for : 
I  like  him  best  of  any  of  them — I  think  Mr.  Neviii  will  suit 
me  far  better  than  this  pompous  Malcolm." 

Mrs.  Ruskin  ceased  her  reproaches,  and,  for  once,  she 
thought  Louise  less  giddy  than  usual.  Nevin  was  of  a  good 
family,  and  independent  in  fortune,  with  large  expectations 
from  a  wealthy  aunt  who  lived  on  the  coast. 

Considering  all  the  chances  against  success  in  her  attempt 
to  secure  Malcolm  for  a  son-in-law,  she  thought  it  would  be 
as  well,  perhaps,  to  permit  her  daughter  to  have  her  own 
way.  So,  for  that  evening  at  least,  Louise  escaped  the  usual 
lecture,  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  yawning  through  and 
forgetting  as  soon  as  it  was  uttered. 

Louise  thought  of  Victor's  angry  face,  and  felt  some  com- 
punction, but  she  consoled  herself  with  the  belief  that  she 
could  soon  make  him  forget  it  all,  by  bestowing  on  him  a  few 
sweet  smiles  and  tender  words. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  winter  proved  remarkably  rnild,  and  the  open  weather 
allowed  the  sugar-making  to  go  on  at  Wavertree  with  un- 
usual success.  Mr.  Harrington  rejoiced  in  the  prospect  of 
making  a  larger  crop  than  usual,  for  the  thought  of  the  load 
of  debt  that  encumbered  him  lay  as  an  incubus  upon  his 
usually  buoyant  spirit.  He  bitterly  reproached  himself  with 
the  change  in  the  prospects  of  his  children,  caused,  as  he  felt, 
by  his  own  imprudence  ;  and  the  disappointment  to  Victor's 
matrimonial  expectations  lay  nearer  his  heart  than  any  one 
supposed. 

He  feared  for  the  result  to  his  son,  for  he  apprehended 
that  with  Victor's  peculiar  character,  a  disappointment  of 
this  nature  might  lead  to  the  most  deplorable  consequences. 
Instead  of  gaining  strength  from  the  blow,  there  was  every 
reason  to  fear  he  would  be  crushed  by  it. 

Mr.  Harrington's  health  was  apparently  restored,  though 
thei'e  was  less  of  the  florid  hue  of  health  which  had  so  lately 
distinguished  his  appearance.  Where  the  ruby  blood  once 
glowed  upon  his  cheek,  a  tinge  of  deeper  purple  was  now 
seen,  as  if  the  vessels  in  the  skin  were  too  full ;  an  occasional 
vertigo  warned  him  that  all  was  not  right  with  him. 

"  I  must  put  my  house  in  order,"  was  his  frequent  thought 


THE  PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  187 

— "  if  I  die  -with  my  affairs  so  much  deranged,  my  children 
may  be  impoverished." 

These  reflections  stimulated  him  to  a  feverish  activity  that 
was  far  from  beneficial  to  him,  and  after  all,  he  felt  how  little 
could  be  accomplished  in  comparison  with  what  he  wished 
done.  To  Malcolm's  return  he  looked  with  trustful  in- 
terest. Firmly  impressed  with  the  belief  in  his  attachment  to 
Pauline,  he  would  give  her  to  him  without  delay,  and  thus 
provide  a  protector  for  both  his  daughters,  in  a  man  of  en- 
ergy who,  should  Heaven  summon  him  away,  could  manage 
his  estate  to  the  best  advantage,  and  in  time  restore  it  to  his 
children,  freed  from  debt. 

It  cost  him  many  severe  struggles  to  lay  aside  his  habits  of 
general  hospitality,  but  a  sense  of  the  higher  duty  he  owed, 
enabled  him  to  accomplish  even  this ;  and  the  elegant  din- 
ners, and  social  reunions  for  which  Wavertree  had  long  been 
noted,  were  discontinued.  They  still  received  their  friends  in 
a  quiet  way,  and  entertained  them  as  agreeably,  though  less 
sumptuously,  than  in  days  of  yore. 

To  Miss  Harrington  and  her  nieces  this  change  would  have 
been  welcome,  but  for  its  cause.  The  constant  tide  of  com- 
pany had  so  greatly  occupied  each  one,  that  their  own  pecu- 
liar tastes  were,  in  a  measure,  compelled  to  lie  dormant,  while 
they  gave  up  so  large  a  portion  of  their  time  to  the  exactions 
of  hospitality.  Pauline  devoted  herself  more  assiduously 
than  ever  to  the  cultivation  of  her  musical  abilities,  and 
Adele  found  an  interest  in  books  which  they  had  never  be- 
fore possessed  ;  while  Miss  Gertrude  looked  after  her  house- 


188  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

keeping,  and  attended  to  the  comfort  of  her  brother  with 
most  assiduous  care. 

One  permanent  guest  was  received  for  the  winter,  and  that 
was  the  Philip  Evelyn  of  whom  Mrs.  Ruskin  had  made  Mal- 
colm so  jealous.  He  had  been  invited  to  Wavertree  before 
misfortune  darkened  over  its  roof;  but  under  any  circum- 
stances this  young  man  would  have  been  welcomed  warmly 
to  Mr.  Harrington's  house.  His  father  had  been  one  of  the 
friends  of  his  boyhood,  to  whom  he  had  been  indebted  for 
valuable  aid  at  his  first  start  in  life.  To  such  men  favors 
once  rendered  appeal  with  powerful  force  throughout  exist- 
ence ;  and  Philip  Evelyn  came  to  the  heart  and  home  of  Mr. 
Harrington,  not  as  the  son  of  a  distant  kinsman,  but  with 
the  cordial  reception  his  own  child  would  have  received. 

A  violent  injury  to  his  breast,  occasioned  by  a  fall  from 
his  horse,  had  produced  symptoms  of  consumption,  and  it 
was  hoped  that  change  of  climate,  aided  by  breathing  the 
vapor  from  the  sugar-house  a  short  time  every  day,  would 
restore  him  to  his  usual  health. 

Philip  Evelyn  was  slender  and  delicate  in  appearance,  and 
if  Malcolm  had  seen  him,  he  would  probably,  at  the  first 
glance,  have  thought  he  had  little  cause  to  fear  a  rival  whose 
personal  pretensions  were  certainly  far  inferior  to  his  own , 
but  after  talking  with  him — after  seeing  those  delicate  fea- 
tures lighted  up  with  the  spiritual  fire  within — hearing  the 
tones  of  a  voice  as  clear  and  musical  as  the  chime  of  silver 
bells,  uttering  words  that  charmed  by  their  eloquence,  he 
would  probably  have  changed  his  opinion.  Evelyn  was  not 
a  man  of  action  and  enterprise,  such  as  Malcolm  ;  he  was  a 


189 

man  of  thought — of  scientific  and  intellectual  tastes — some- 
times a  dreamer,  but  also  a  worker ;  he  had  been  a  hard 
student ;  was  a  good  practical  engineer,  and  a  fine  draughts- 
man. 

He  was  received  into  the  family  circle  as  one  of  thorn- 
selves,  and  soon  felt  as  perfectly  domesticated  as  if  he  had 
been  in  his  own  home.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  the 
society  of  cultivated  women,  and  enjoyed  it.  His  mother 
and  sisters  were  very  dear  to  him,  and  from  them  he  had 
formed  a  very  high  estimate  of  the  sex.  Such  men  are 
always  popular  with  women,  and  Miss  Gertrude  took  him  un- 
der her  especial  charge,  while  the  sisters  endeavored,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  render  Wavertree  agreeable  to  him. 

Like  others,  Evelyn  admired  the  rare  beauty  of  Adele,  but 
he  was  not  captivated  at  first  sight.  He  was  not  the  sort  of 
man  to  set  an  exaggerated  value  on  mere  personal  attractions, 
and  it  was  not  until  he  saw  indications  of  her  true  womanly 
character,  that  his  heart  acknowledged  how  lovely  she  really 
was.  The  great  affection  for  her  father  which  she  unostenta- 
tiously betrayed,  first  won  him  to  think  of  her  as  something 
more  than  beautiful ;  and  this  observation  continued  from 
day  to  day,  made  him  soon  think  that  at  last  he  had  found  a 
being  who  came  as  near  the  ideal  of  the  poets  as  it  was  pos- 
sible for  a  real  living  woman  to  be. 

His  early  indifference  pleased  Adele  more  than  the  violent 
admiration  she  was  accustomed  to  elicit;  it  seemed  to  her 
more  natural,  and  to  be  founded  on  something  better  than  a 
mere  appreciation  of  a  fine  specimen  of  nature's  handiwork  ; 
a  species  of  admiration  she  only  shared  with  a  beautiful 


190  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

flower,  or  any  other  object  calculated  to  charm  the  eye. 
This  -kind  of  worship  she  disdained  as  an  offering  that  low- 
ered her  far  beneath  her  true  level.  To  be  valued  for  her 
real  superiority  was  her  earnest  desire,  and  not  for  the  adven- 
titious charms  which  must  lose  their  bloom  in  a  few  fleetim* 

O 

years. 

On  further  acquaintance,  Adele  found  that  the  character  of 
her  mind  harmonized  wonderfully  well  with  that  of  Evelyn ; 
yet  had  any  one  hinted  to  either  that  a  life-destiny  was  in- 
volved in  this  newly-awakened  interest,  they  would  both 
have  denied  the  imputation  at  once. 

The  arrival  of  Evelyn  was  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune  tc 
Mr.  Harrington.  His  intelligent  and  active  mind  took  a  keen 
interest  in  the  new  field  of  observation  opened  to  him.  The 
bright  weather  enticed  him  to  accompany  his  host  in  his 
daily  rounds  on  the  plantation,  and  his  professional  skill  en- 
abled him  frequently  to  be  of  great  use  to  him. 

For  several  years  past,  the  river  had  been  unusually  high, 
and  the  additional  quantity  of  transpiration  water  imbibed 
by  the  soil,  rendered  it  necessary  to  drain  to  a  greater  extent 
than  before,  to  prevent  the  cane  from  suffering  injury  from 
the  moisture.  These  miniature  canals  were  surveyed  by 
Evelyn,  and  with  his  assistance  every  thing  placed  in  readi- 
ness to  commence  their  construction  so  soon  as  the  rush  of 
sugar-making  was  over ;  for  on  a  sugar  plantation,  every 
thing  bends  before  the  necessity  of  grinding  the  cane  before 
it  is  injured  by  the  frost. 

Evelyn  possessed  that  rare  tact  which  enables  persons  to 
talk  only  when  conversation  is  most  welcome,  and  to  say  that 


191 

which  is  pleasing  to  the  state  of  the  listener's  mind.  A  few 
rare  mental  organizations  possess  this  species  of  magnetic 
sympathy,  and  a  greater  gift  it  is  than  beauty,  genius,  or 
power ;  for  by  its  magic  properties,  it  enables  its  possessor  t« 
throw  new  light  upon  fading  hopes — to  raise  the  sinking 
heart,  and  infuse  energy  into  the  faltering,  doubting  soul. 

Day  after  day,  Philip  Evelyn  rode  out  beside  his  old  friend, 
and  Mr.  Harrington  felt  that  he  had  been  sent  to  him  for  a 
purpose.  Deeply  and  unostentatiously  pious,  he  often  turned 
his  conversation  from  the  pressing  worldly  concerns  which  he 
saw  were  burdening  the  anxious  mind  of  his  companion,  to 
"  that  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens  ;n 
and  for  a  season,  his  eloquent  words  would  cause  all  ^earthly 
cares  to  fade  before  the  bright  visions  of  the  hereafter  to 
which  they  gave  birth. 

Mr.  Harrington  had  thought  of  all  these  things  seriously ; 
and  he  had  been  a  constant  reader  of  his  Bible  throughout 
life,  but  his  faith  was  only  that  which  he  had  imbibed  from 
careful  maternal  instruction.-  He  was  merely  a  passive  Chris- 
tian, and  to  this  consciousness  he  gradually  awoke  as  he 
listened  to  the  unobtrusive  remarks  of  his  young  friend.  Mr. 
Harrington  was  thus  led  to  read  books  which  treated  on  this 
subject,  in  his  leisure  hours,  and  to  reflect  deeply  on  their 
contents.  The  carking  load  of  care,  which  had  planted 
many  new  furrows  on  his  brow,  thus  lost  much  of  its  bitter- 
ness. Persons  of  sanguine  temperament  above  all  others,  must 
have  something  bright  to  look  to  in  the  future,  whether  it  be 
of  this  world  or  the  next ;  without  it,  they  are  in  a  slough  of 
despond  from  which  there  is  no  escape. 


192  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

The  new  ideas  so  unostentatiously  opened  to  his  over- 
burdened mind  carried  with  them  inexpressible  relief  and  satis- 
faction ;  and  many  hours,  when  he  rode  slowly  forth  in  the 
bright  winter  sunshine,  outwardly  grave,  his  heart  was  rising 
in  grateful  thanks  to  Him  who  has  made  all  visible  things  so 
beautiful  that  they  carry  a  lesson  of  sublimity  and  reverence 
to  the  spirit,  if  they  are  viewed  with  the  eye  of  faith  and 
love. 

Mr.  Harrington  soon  learned  to  regard  the  messenger  of 
good  to  himself  with  a  strength  of  affection  that  rendered 
the  idea  of  parting  from  him  extremely  painful ;  and  he 
sought  for  some  pretext  for  retaining  him  near  him  through- 
out the  future.  The  only  one  that  naturally  suggested  itself, 
was,  to  give  him  his  favorite  daughter,  and  thus  claim  the 
love  of  a  son  from  Evelyn.  He  watched  the  slight  indications 
of  a  mutually  developing  preference  between  the  two  with 
deep  solicitude,  though  he  was  too  delicate,  as  well  as  too 
anxious  for  the  denouement  to  betray  his  wishes  in  the 
slightest  degree. 

Thus  weeks  rolled  away  fraught  with  deeper  peril  to  Mal- 
colm's hopes,  than  even  Pauline's  preference  for  himself.  She, 
poor  girl,  during  his  protracted  absence,  felt  that  sickness  of 
the  heart  of  which  the  poet  has  so  truly  sung.  The  bright 
vision  of  happiness  that  had  made  an  abiding-place  there 
gradually  faded — faded  until  hope  struggled  with  despair. 
She  would  not  yield  to  the  terrible  conviction  that  him  she 
so  fervently  loved  was  indifferent  to  her  happiness — unworthy 
of  a  tender  thought.  Her  imagination  had  invested  Malcolm 
with  every  attribute  of  excellence,  and  her  spirit  had  bowed 


193 

in  heart-homage  before  that  ideal  goodness  in  which  her  own 
nature  found  so  much  that  was  congenial. 

At  first,  Malcolm's  letters  kept  up  this  delusion,  but  grad- 
ually their  tone  changed,  as  if  he  wished  to  prepare  the  way 
for  the  avowal  of  his  true  designs ;  but  as  the  suspicion  of 
his  falseness  to  herself  darkened  over  her  mind,  Pauline  sum 
moned  all  the  pride  of  womanhood,  all  the  shrinking  reserve 
of  her  peculiar  temperament,  to  aid  her  in  concealing  the 
deadly  blow  that  had  been  dealt  upon  her  heart.  Others, 
not  even  those  dearest  to  her,  should  know  how  keen  were 
her  sufferings ;  and  she  armed  herself  with  endurance  for  her 
daily  duties,  and  passed  among  her  friends  the  same  thought- 
ful considerate  Pauline  she  had  been  before  this  bitter  struggle 
came,  to  strengthen  her  perhaps,  for  the  conflict  with  the 
trials  which  so  rapidly  approached  the  ruined  family. 

Pauline's  manner  had  always  been  quiet,  and  even  the 
affectionate  eyes  around  her,  did  not  detect  the  veiled  suffer- 
ing that  often  tortured  her  heart.  She  saw  this,  and  it  gave 
her  strength  to  struggle  on,  but  the  very  life  of  life  seemed 
to  herself  to  be  perishing  within  her  soul,  never  again  to  be 
revivified. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  Mr.  Harrington  was  summoned  to 
New  Orleans  by  his  perfidious  friend,  to  complete  the  last 
details  of  the  business  necessary  to  place  him  entirely  in  Mal- 
colm's power.  The  latter  wrote  that  his  presence  was  imper- 
atively necessary,  and  he  forthwith  prepared  to  go.  He  con- 
siderately proposed  to  make  Pauline  the  companion  of  his 
journey,  but  she  declined  accompanying  him,  with  the  shrink- 
ing feeling  that  in  so  doing  she  would  be  intruding  her 


194 

presence  on  one  to  whom  it  would  be  unwelcome.  Mr.  Har- 
rington was  surprised  at  this  decision,  and  would  have  re- 
monstrated, but  she  gave  so  many  plausible  reasons  why  it 
would  be  best  to  remain  at  home  that  he  was  silenced.  He 
said, 

"  I  only  wished  to  contribute  to  your  happiness,  my  child. 
If  you  think  it  best  to  stay  at  home,  of  course  I  will  not  insist 
on  taking  you  with  me,  though  your  presence  would  afford 
happiness  not  alone  to  myself." 

At  this  allusion  the  poor  girl  grew  heart-sick.  After  a 
pause,  to  steady  her  voice,  she  asked, 

"  Will  it  be  prying  unwarrantably  into  your  affairs,  father, 
if  I  inquire  into  the  nature  of  the  business  which  takes  you  to 
New  Orleans  at  present  ?" 

"  It  is  too  complicated  to  explain  to  you,  Pauline,  and  could 
do  no  good.  I  will  only  say,  that  God  never  created  a  more 
generous  man  than  Malcolm.  Without  the  assistance  he  has 
rendered  me,  I  should  now  be  in  a  labyrinth  of  difficulties 
from  which  I  could  scarcely  find  my  way  out." 

"  Has  he  really  been  so  kind  ?"  and  a  feeling  of  strange 
pleasure  filled  her  sad  heart,  at  hearing  him  she  feared  to 
trust  thus  praised  by  lips  she  loved.  "  I  knew  from  Mr.  Mal- 
colm, himself,  that  he  had  aided  you,  but  I  was  not  aware 
that  your  obligations  are  so  great.  Yet — yet — 0,  father,  do 
not  think  me  presumptuous  if  I  entreat  you  not  to  trust  him 
too  far.  It  is  not  well  to  place  ourselves  too  much  in  the 
power  of  another." 

"  I  know  that  well,  my  daughter  ;  but  necessity  teaches  us 
stern  lessons  sometimes.  With  me,  just  now,  it  is  a  question 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      195 

of  insolvency  or  assistance  from  Malcolm.  I  tell  you  this  in 
confidence,  however ;  do  not  "betray  it  to  your  aunt  or  sister. 
I  shall  swim  through  yet,  and  you  have  strength  of  mind  to 
know  and  sympathize  with  my  difficulties  without  annoying 
me  by  looking  sorrowful.  I  can  not  bear  grave  faces  about 
me,  Pauline — you  know  how  I  have  always  promoted  cheer- 
fulness." 

Her  heart  felt  as  if  a  cord  of  steel  were  drawn  tightly 
around  it,  as  he  thus  spoke,  but  she  found  courage  to  look  up 
and  smile. 

"  Thank  you,  dear  father,  for  your  confidence ;  but  pardon 
me,  if  I  again  ask  you  if  there  is  no  other  means  of  settling 
your  affairs  open  to  you,  than  to  place  yourself  so  completely 
at  the  mercy  of  Mr.  Malcolm  ?" 

"  What  would  the  child  be  at  ?"  said  Mr.  Harrington,  in  a 
slightly  irritated  tone.  "  From  whom  can  I  with  so  much 
propriety  accept  assistance  as  from  the  man  who  expects  to 
become  my  son-in-law  ?  You  must  be  aware  of  the  nature  of 
his  hopes,  Pauline,  for  he  as  good  as  told  me  you  had  sanc- 
tioned them." 

"  Did  he  indeed  say  that  ?"  gasped  Pauline,  a  flood  of  hap- 
piness and  contrition  pouring  into  her  heart  with  magical 
swiftness.  "  Then  indeed  have  I  wronged  him." 

"  Wronged  him  !  Have  you  doubted  him  because  he  has 
not  written  a  parcel  of  silly  love-letters  to  you,  telling  you 
every  week  how  much  he  adores  you  ?  Pooh  !  Malcolm  has 
passed  the  age  of  sentimentality,  and  he  eschews  such  non- 
sense ;  but  lie  loves  you  none  the  less  for  that,  as  I  can  testify 


196 

from  his  emotion  when  he  spoke  of  his  hope  of  becoming  my 
son." 

Pauline  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  to  conceal  her 
strong  emotion.  This  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  seemed  al- 
most more  than  she  could  bear ;  tears  of  delicious  happiness 
streamed  through  her  slender  fingers,  and  her  father  drew  her 
tenderly  to  his  heart. 

"  My  love,  you  must  have  inflicted  much  needless  suffering 
upon  yourself,  to  be  thus  moved  by  the  assurance  I  have  just 
given  you.  I  did  not  before  think  that  my  Pauline  possessed 
a  suspicious  temper." 

"  O,  father,"  she  whispered,  "  where  so  much  is  given,  the 
heart  aches  for  a  fair  return.  Perhaps  mine  is  inclined  to  be 
too  exacting,  but  I  must  think  it  strange  that  Mr.  Malcolm 
has  written  so  differently  of  late." 

"  He  is  harassed  with  business,  Pauline  ;  and  men  in  such 
circumstances  forget  the  heart  that  in  loneliness  broods  over 
even  an  apparent  slight.  Trust  Malcolm,  my  child,  for  he  is 
worthy,  and  I  know  he  loves  you  well." 

This  repeated  assurance  gave  comfort  and  certainty  to  the 
bruised  heart,  for  how  completely  her  father  was  himself  de- 
ceived the  young  girl  could  not  suspect,  and  her  dream  of 
love,  brighter  and  warmer  from  its  temporary  eclipse,  cast  re- 
newed sunshine  upon  her  path. 

Again  Mr.  Harrington  urged  her  to  accompany  him,  but 
she  said,  with  a  bright  smile, 

"  He  will  return  with  you  to  Wavertree,  dear  father,  and 
thus  reassured,  I  can  afford  to  wait.  I  would  prefer  to  avoid 
even  the  appearance  of  seeking  him." 


197 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,  my  child.  The  daughters  of  ray 
house  are  not  used  to  play  the  part  of  wooer  to  a  tardy 
lover ;  not  that  I  mean  to  insinuate  that  of  Malcolm,  for  he 
has  been  detained  from  you  as  much  by  his  endeavors  to 
serve  me,  as  by  his  own  affairs." 

"  For  which  service  I  will  endeavor  to  repay  him  in  the 
future,"  said  Pauline,  blushing  brightly.  "  I  owe  him  repar- 
ation for  my  unkind  suspicions." 

"  Take  heed  that  they  find  no  place  in  your  heart  again, 
and  thus  double  your  ciime  against  him,"  replied  her  father 
with  a  smile,  as  he  turned  away  and  busied  himself  with  his 
preparations  for  departure. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

PHILIP  EVELYN  sat  in  the  shadow  of  the  great  tree,  and 
read  the  "Lotus  Eaters."  It  was  one  of  those  deliciously 
balmy  days,  in  the  very  heart  of  winter,  which  are  only 
known  to  a  southern  clime.  The  bright  sun  had  warmed 
the  air,  until  it  came  in  gushes  of  dreamy  softness  to  his 
cheek.  The  leaves  of  the  old  tree  fluttered  around  him,  and 
cast  flickering  shadows  upon  his  page.  In  the  distance,  the 
wide  fields  of  cane  of  a  vivid  green,  spread  away  like  an 
ocean  of  verdure,  and  the  sparkling  river  went  on  its  resist- 
less way,  an  object  of  grandeur,  and  often  of  terror  to  the 
dwellers  on  its  banks,  who  for  many  months  of  the  year  are 
only  protected  from  destruction  by  the  frail  barrier  of  earth 
which  human  ingenuity  has  reared  to  restrain  the  eddying 
waters. 

It  was  just  the  kind  of  day  on  which  to  read  the  dreamy 
pages  of  Tennyson,  and  the  young  man  was  exactly  in  the 
mood  to  enjoy  them.  The  coloring  of  health  again  faintly 
tinged  his  cheek,  and  the  irritating  cough  he  had  suffered 
from,  was  now  heard  only  at  rare  intervals.  His  thoughtful 
eyes  were  occasionally  lifted,  and  swept  over  the  scene  around 
him,  as  if  the  day  were  too  bright  to  be  forgotten,  even  in 
intellectual  enjoyment.  Then  he  would  lean  back  against 
a  curved  branch  that  afforded  a  pleasant  support,  and  dream 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  199 

such  a  dream  as  only  comes  once  to  the  human  heart  in  all 
the  freshness  of  that  pristine  time  when  our  first  parents 
dwelt  within  the  garden  of  Eden. 

It  was  but  a  dream,  for  his  hopes  had  scarcely  yet  taken 
a  tangible  form,  but  it  was  only  the  more  delicious  from  its 
very  vagueness.  Evelyn  was  yet  in  that  stage  of  love  in 
which  passion  has  not  usurped  the  empire  of  reason.  He 
could  say, 

"  Should  such  happiness  be  mine  in  the  future,  I  shall  be  a 
better  and  a  nobler  man  for  such  companionship ;"  and  the 
doubt  thus  expressed,  gave  him  no  pain,  for  he  scarcely  knew 
as  yet,  the  influence  Adele  had  really  established  over  his 
feelings.  The  suspicion  that  another  wished  successfully  to 
pluck  this  fair  flower,  was  alone  needed  to  show  him  all  the 
depths  of  his  own  heart,  and  how  absolutely  she  reigned 
there. 

Presently  a  soft  strain  of  music  floated  out  upon  the  sunlit 
air,  and  he  listened  in  charmed  listlessness  to  the  sweet  voice 
of  Pauline  singing  one  of  Malcolm's  favorite  songs.  He  had 
never  heard  her  sing  that  one  before,  and  he  marveled  at  the 
exceeding  melody  of  that  voice  which  sent  up  its  joyful  paean 
of  gratitude  for  renewed  hope  in  every  note  of  her  sweetly 
modulated  tones.  It  was  the  outgushing  of  a  spirit  released 
from  a  burden  it  had  found  almost  too  heavy  to  be  borne ; 
and  more  than  one  heart  in  that  household  felt  that  a  shadow 
they  had  scarcely  noticed  while  it  lasted,  was  lifted  from  the 
heart  and  brow  of  their  dearly  cherished  one. 

Miss  Harrington  sat  in  her  own  room  sewing,  but  the  open 
doors  permitted  those  charming  tones  to  penetrate  to  her 


200  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

sanctum,  and  she  silently  thanked  the  Giver  of  ajl  that  the 
clouded  fortunes  of  her  brother  had  caused  no  diminution  of 
happiness  in  their  household. 

Adele,  in  a  long  sun-bonnet,  and  a  pair  of  gardening  gloves, 
was  at  work  among  her  flowers,  and  she  too  paused  to  listen 
to  her  sister's  singing.  It  seemed  as  glad  as  the  gush  of  song 
from  the  happy  birds  on  a  bright  spring  morning,  and  she 
thought, 

"Pauline  must  feel  more  assured  of  Mr.  Malcolm's  con- 
stancy than  of  late;  for  she  seemed  to  me  to  be  rather 
depressed  in  spirits  until  my  father  left  us.  Can  he  have 
written  more  explicitly,  and  yet  she  would  not  tell  me  ?  O, 
sister  mine,  if  you  have  played  off  such  a  cheat  upon  me,  I 
will — let  me  see  what  I  will  do  ? — repay  you  in  like  man- 
ner, I  suppose,"  and  she  blushed  under  her  garden  bonnet, 
though  she  would  fain  have  persuaded  herself  that  the  in- 
creasing heat  of  the  day  caused  the  sudden  flush  that  suf- 
fused her  face. 

She  presently  threw  back  her  bonnet,  and  plucking  a  few 
monthly  roses,  came  out  into  the  open  yard,  crossed  it,  and 
seated  herself  on  a  rustic  bench  beneath  a  cluster  of  china 
trees. 

From  his  perch  in  the  oak,  Evelyn's  eye  was  caught  by  her 
flitting  figure,  and  he  followed  it  with  a  sudden  fluttering  of 
the  heart  which  might  have  spoken  volumes  to  him,  had  he 
paused  to  analyze  its  meaning ;  but  he  did  not.  The  beauti- 
ful young  girl  was  but  an  accessory  to  the  picture  which  was 
stamping  itself  upon  his  memory  in  ineffaceable  brightness. 

There  are  days  and  scenes   which   are   lived  over  again 


THE  PLANTER  8  DAUGHTER.         201 

years  after  they  are  numbered  with  the  things  that  were. 
Scenes  in  which  every  gleam  of  sunlight — every  fluttering 
shadow  on  the  landscape,  are  as  distinctly  visible  to  the  men- 
tal vision,  as  when  they  were  actually  beheld.  When  with 
these  is  mingled  some  delicious  heart  association,  how  vividly 
they  return,  carrying  the  gray  head,  the  wearied  spirit  back 
to  that  golden  time  when  Hope  chanted  her  blithest  song, 
and  Joy  was  the  offspring  of  her  deceptive  light. 

Philip  Evelyn  was  unconsciously  daguerreotyping  such  a 
scene  upon  his  memory,  and  he  was  annoyed  when  his  deli- 
cious dream  was  broken  by  the  dismounting  of  a  gentleman 
at  the  gate  with  a  package  of  letters  and  papers.  It  was  one 
of  the  neighbors  who  had  been  to  the  village  containing  the 
post-office,  and  finding  several  letters  there  for  the  family  at 
Wavertree,  had  volunteered  to  deliver  them  himself. 

Seeing  Adele  in  the  yard,  he  declined  coming  in,  and  after 
exchanging  a  few  friendly  words  with  her,  he  again  mounted 
his  steed  and  rode  away.  The  young  girl  returned  to  the 
bench,  and  looked  over  the  letters ;  she  put  aside  two,  and 
opened  a  third  one  which  she  read  carelessly,  and  then  tear- 
ing it  in  pieces,  thrust  them  into  the  pocket  of  her  dress. 
She  did  not  attempt  to  open  the  papers,  but  sat  as  if  ab- 
sorbed in  thought. 

Evelyn  speculated  on  her  abstraction,  and  presently  became 
restless.  He  was  expecting  letters  from  his  own  beloved 
home,  and  he  felt  certain  that  those  which  had  been  put 
aside  were  for  him,  or  Adele  would  herself  have  carried 
them  in  to  her  aunt  or  sister.  She  did  not  know  where 
he  was  to  be  found,  and,  therefore,  they  were  suffered  to 


202 

lie  idly  beside  her,  until  she  was  ready  to  go  in  the  house 
herself. 

With  these  thoughts  in  his  mind,  Tennyson  lost  his  pecu- 
liar charm,  and  the  book  was  closed.  The  dreamer  awoke  to 
the  actual  world  around  him,  to  which  so  many  interests  and 
hopes  so  strongly  bound  him,  and  with  the  activity  of  youth, 
he  came  down  from  his  lofty  station  and  lightly  approached 
the  unconscious  Adele. 

"  Sweet  coz,  I  hope  your  dream  has  been  as  bright  as  mine, 
this  charming  day,"  he  softly  said. 

Adele  started,  colored  slightly,  and  replied  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  manner, 

"  Here  are  two  letters  for  you,  Cousin  Philip.  They  will 
be  welcome  to  you,  I  know,  for  they  come  from  your  home. 
I  did  not  know  that  you  were  so  near,  or  I  should  have  sent 
them  to  you." 

He  took  them  as  he  said, 

"  You  have  not  yet  found  out  where  I  secrete  myself,  nor 
what  marvels  I  have  discovered  by  occupying  a  retreat  so 
near  and  so  unsuspected." 

"You  are  welcome  to  all  the  information  you  may 
thus  have  gained ;  but  if  you  had  not  avowed  it,  you  are 
the  last  person  I  should  have  suspected  of  a  prying  dis- 
position." 

"  Sometimes  one  may  be  interested  in  discovering  whether 
the  lovely  outward  seeming,  is  mated  by  as  beautiful  a  spirit ; 
but  I  assure  you,  I  have  used  no  underhand  means  to  solve 
my  doubts,  for  I  have  daily  overlooked  your  proceedings,  and 
found — " 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  203 

"  That  I  can  scold  sometimes,"  she  laughingly  interrupted. 
"  Never  imagine  ladies  altogether  angels,  Cousin  Philip ;  for 
you  may  safely  believe  there  is  a  touch  of  mother  Eve  in 
them  all." 

"  I  have  a  faint  recollection  that  I  did  one  day  hear  some 
exclamations  about  a  flower,  in  which  the  gardener  found  some 
blame,  but  the  tone  in  which  they  were  uttered  half  disarmed 
them  of  their  sting." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  such  was  the  opinion  of  John  ;  for 
he  looked  even  blacker  than  is  natural  to  him,  and  declared 
that  my  crushed  japonica  was  no  fault  of  his.  You  overlook 
us,  you  say  ;  then  I  suppose  you  have  found  your  way  to  the 
top  of  the  old  tree  ?" 

"  Yes — and  a  charming  lounging-place  it  is.  Whose  idea 
was  it  to  put  such  convenient  seats  amid  its  branches  ?" 

"  My  father's,  of  course.  Who  ever  thinks  of  as  many 
agreeable  things  as  he  does  ?" 

"Few  indeed — for  few  persons  cherish  such  kindly  and  be- 
nevolent feelings  toward  all  others." 

Adele  looked  pleased  at  this  just  tribute  to  her  beloved 
father.  She  said, 

"  Thank  you ;  but  you  are  forgetting  your  letters ;  I 
think  one  of  them  is  from  your  mother.  Here  is  room 
beside  me.  Sit  there  and  read  them ;  I  wish  to  hear 
something  more  of  those  in  whom  you  have  so  deeply  in- 
terested me." 

Evelyn  obeyed,  and  some  time  passed  in  perusing  two  very 
long  letters — one  from  his  mother,  and  the  other  from  hia 
eldest  sister. 


204  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

Adele's  eyes  wandered  to  his  face  as  he  bent  slightly  for- 
ward, oblivious  of  even  her  presence,  as  his  heart  went  back 
to  his  boyhood's  home,  and,  in  spirit,  he  was  amid  the  family 
group,  a  sharer  in  all  their  joys  and  hopes.  She  watched  the 
play  of  emotion  upoo  his  delicate  features,  and  felt  their 
power  to  express  tender,  noble,  and  manly  feeling.  She  con- 
trasted them,  in  her  own  mind,  with  the  clearly  cut  and 
almost  faultless  profile  of  Malcolm,  and  thought  how  much 
Philip's  gained  by  the  comparison.  Yet  she  believed 
she  was  simply  appreciating  the  good  points  of  her  kins- 
man. 

At  length  he  looked  up,  with  a  bright  gleam  of  pleasure 
illuminating  his  face. 

"  You  have  glad  news  ?"  she  said. 

"  The  very  best,"  was  the  joyful  reply.  "  My  mother  tells 
me  that  my  sister  Mary  will  be  married  very  soon,  to  one 
to  whom  she  has  been  betrothed  several  years.  Hitherto, 
Mr.  Groves  has  not  been  in  circumstances  to  marry ;  but  he 
has  recently  received  the  appointment  of  professor  of  lan- 
guages in college,  with  a  sufficient  salary  to  enable  him 

to  do  so ;  and  Mary  leaves  her  home  as  a  bride,  so  soon  as 
my  renovated  health  will  enable  me  to  return  to  be  present 
at  the  ceremony." 

"  Then  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  she  must  defer  her  hap- 
piness some  time  yet ;  for  you  can  not  venture  to  leave  our 
mild  climate  until  the  winter  is  fairly  over." 

Adele  spoke  these  words  with  a  painful  contraction  of  the 
heart,  which  gave  her  the  first  warning  of  its  true  condition. 

"  Yes — Mary  is  considerate  about  that  herself.     She  tells 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  205 

me  she  has  assured  her  professor,  that  she  can  not  name  an 
earlier  month  than  May  for  their  union.  I  shall  be  quite  re- 
stored by  that  time,  and  can  leave  with  safety." 

Adele  turned  her  faced  toward  the  river,  and  gazed  vague- 
ly on  the  distant  landscape.  She  thought  Philip  spoke  very 
coldly  of  leaving  those  \vho  had  received  him  so  kindly,  but 
she  would  not  have  told  him  so  for  the  world.  Evelyn  went 
on — 

"  This  engagement  has  been  one  of  long  standing — for  my 
father,  with  his  large  family,  can  not  afford  to  bestow  a  por-  / 
tion  on  my  sister,  and  Groves  possessed  too  little  himself,  to 
render  a  marriage  prudent  without  he  could  obtain  some  em- 
ployment that  afforded  him  a  certain  income.  He  is  only 
qualified  for  the  station  he  now  fills ;  for  he  is  a  man  of 
books,  and  is  out  of  place  in  the  busy  world." 

"  I  trust  your  sister  may  realize  all  the  happiness  for  which 
she  hopes,"  Adele  forced  herself  to  say,  as  she  paused. 
Philip  was  too  much  occupied  with  his  own  thoughts  to  re- 
mark the  slight  constraint  in  the  tone  of  her  voice.  He  went 
on — "Mary  says  they  wish  to  establish  a  scientific  depart- 
ment in  connection  with  the  college ;  and  Groves  thinks  I  am 
exactly  qualified  to  fill  the  situation  of  principal.  He  will 
write  to  me  in  a  tew  days  himself,  on  the  subject,  and  Mary 
says  I  can  in  fl»e  meantime  reflect  upon  it  myself." 

"  How  does  such  a  proposal  please  you  ?"  she  asked,  doubt- 


He  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
"  It  offers  the  means  of  independence,  which  I  should  not 
hastily  reject.     I  can  no  longer  consent  to  be  a  burden  to  my 


206 

father,  for  he  has  very  liberally  educated  me.  The  failure  of 
my  health,  will,  I  fear,  compel  me  to  relinquish  the  profession 
I  had  chosen  ;  as  the  exposure  to  which  a  surveyor  is  liable 
may  bring  back  the  symptoms  I  suffered  from  when  I  came 
hither." 

There  was  a  pause,  which  Adele  broke  by  saying, 

"  How  will  my  father  bear  to  part  from  you,  Cousin  Philip  ? 
He  seems  as  much  attached  to  you  as  if  you  were — " 

She  paused,  crimsoned,  and  altered  the  intended  form  of 
her  speech. 

"  I  really  think  he  will  grieve  over  your  departure  more 
than  over  the  change  in  his  fortunes.  I  never  before  knew 
him  to  attach  himself  so  strongly  to  a  stranger,  in  so  short  a 
time." 

"I  have  never  felt  as  a  stranger  in  your  father's  house, 
Adele.  He  received  me  from  the  first  as  a  son ;  and  as  such, 
I  sincerely  love  and  reverence  him." 

At  the  word  son,  the  consciousness  of  Adele  came  to  him. 
He  looked  at  her,  but  her  own  emotion  was  controlled,  and 
she  seemed  as  placidly  lovely  as  usual.  He  thought  of  his 
own  limited  resources,  of  the  luxury  in  which  she  had  been 
reared,  and  he  felt  that  to  suffer  his  dream  to  take  a  tangible 
form,  would  be  a  wrong  to  her.  He  had  nothing  to  offer, 
save  a  true  and  honest  affection  ;  and  this  he  would  not 
weigh  against  the  wealth  which  might  be  hers,  when  this 
temporary  embarrassment  to  her  father's  fortunes  had  passed 
away. 

The  first  awakening  pang  came  with  this  hard  thought, 
and  by  its  bitterness  Evelyn  knew  how  much  he  loved  her. 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  207 

To  him  the  dreamy  glory  of  the  day  was  gone ;  he  looked  out 
on  the  still  sunshine,  felt  upon  his  cheek  the  soft  venial 
breeze,  but  a  change  seemed  to  have  fallen  over  them.  The 
brightness  was  still  there,  but  it  was  a  hard,  harsh  glitter, 
that  no  longer  harmonized  with  his  own  spirit ;  so  strongly 
do  sensitive  natures  give  an  expression  and  a  coloring  of  their 
own  to  the  outward  influences  that  surround  them. 

Both  sat  absorbed  in  unpleasant  reverie  several  moments, 
which  neither  would  willingly  have  betrayed  to  the  other. 
Adele,  then  feeling  the  awkwardness  of  this  silence,  took  up 
the  volume  of  Tennyson  which  Philip  had  placed  on  the  seat, 
and  opened  it. 

"Are  you  an  admirer  of  Tennyson?"  she  asked. 

"  In  some  moods  of  my  mind  his  strains  are  charming  to 
me ;  but  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand  all  he  has  written. 
There  are  mystic  lines,  that  require  interpreting  as  much  as 
some  of  the  involved  sentences  of  Carlyle." 

"  I  agree  with  you.  I  am  sure  it  would  puzzle  the  poet 
himself  to  explain  what  he  sometimes  means ;  but  like  your- 
self, I  enjoy  some  of  his  writings  intensely.  Is  he  your  favor- 
ite poet  ?"  * 

"  No — that  distinction  belongs  to  Shelley.  Some  of  his 
pictures  live  in  my  mind  like  actual  realities,  and  if  I  were 
an  artist,  I  could  paint  them.  He  has  written  much  that  is 
objectionable ;  but  there  is  a  true  conception  of  poetry  in  its 
highest  sense,  breathed  through  nearly  all  his  productions. 
You  feel,  while  reading  them,  that  they  are  a  portion  of  the 
man's  soul  that  must  find  utterance.  It  was  not  mere  intel- 
lectual power  that  made  Shelley  a  poet,  but  the  outgushing 


208  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

of  the  inspired  spirit  that  must  be  heard ;  he  sang  as  the  lark 
sings,  without  thought  of  the  impression  his  music  would 
make.  That  doubtless  came  as  an  after  consideration,  but  in 
the  fervor  of  composition,  I  do  not  believe  he  once  referred 
to  it." 

After  a  slight  pause,  he  asked, 

u  Who  is  your  favorite  poet  ?  Which  one  among  the  mighty 
sons  of  song  has  found  the  warmest  appreciation  in  your  heart  ?" 

Adele  smiled,  as  she  replied, 

"  I  feel  a  womanly  pride  in  turning  from  the  lordly  list, 
and  telling  you  that  the  truest  poetry  I  have  read,  has  been 
written  by  one  of  my  own  sex." 

Philip  looked  a  little  disappointed.     He  said, 

"  By  Mrs.  Hemans,  of  course.  She  is  justly  a  favorite  with 
the  lovers  of  the  tender  and  the  beautiful ;  but  I  looked  for 
a  different  choice  from  you." 

"  No,  it  is  not  Mrs.  Hemans.  I  admire  her  greatly,  but 
she  is  not  my  ideal  of  what  a  highly  intellectual  woman  can 
be,  as  an  utterer  of  great  truths." 

"  Mrs.  Norton,  then  ?"  he  asked.  "  Some  of  her  strains  are 
exquisite — or  Miss  Baillie  ?  or — " 

"  Come  nearer  to  our  own  time,  and  you  will  call  the  name 
of  'the  woman  who  has  astonished  the  intellectual  world  by 
her  learning,  and  charmed  the  feeling  one,  by  her  wonderful 
gift  of  poesy." 

"Ah,  I  should  not  have  been  so  thoughtless  as  to  omit  the 
greatest  among  them  all — Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.  All 
honor  to  her,  I  sincerely  say,  for  she  is  a  wonderfully  gifted 
creature." 


209 

"  You  may  indeed  say  so,"  said  Adele  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Mrs.  Browning  has  not  only  written  things  that  appeal  to 
the  deepest  and  truest  sympathies  of  the  human  heart,  but 
she  has  given  the  world  a  poem  which,  in  my  opinion,  de- 
serves to  be  placed  beside  Paradise  Lost,  and  she  suffers  not 
when  brought  in  comparison  even  with  Milton." 

"  You  refer  to  the  Drama  of  Exile.  It  is  indeed  an  extra- 
ordinary production,  and  I  must  confess  that  it  is  far  more 
readable  than  the  voluminous  pages  of  Milton." 

"  I  think  so  ;  and  her  character  of  Eve  is  a  more  natural 
conception  of  our  first  mother,  than  the  one  delineated  in 
Paradise  Lost.  She  is  truer  to  our  ideal  of  the  womanly 
nature.  Shirley  is  right,  when  she  insinuates  that  Milton 
did  not  comprehend  the  finer  nature  of  woman." 

"  Rank  heresy  that,  and  rebellion  against  the  long  estab- 
lished superiority  of  my  sex  over  yours,  Miss  Adele  Harring- 
ton. I  can  not  permit  such  a  depreciating  comparison  between 
the  work  of  a  feminine  pen,  and  that  of  the  great  blind  magi- 
cian, whose  darkness  was  peopled  with  visions  more  wonder- 
ful than  are  beheld  by  the  keenest  eyesight." 

Adele  laughed  at  his  mock  heroic  tone. 

"You  forget  that  this  is  the  age  of  woman's  rights — or 
rather  the  redressing  of  her  wrongs.  I  need  not  take  up  arms 
in  their  defense,  because  my  sex  are  proving  themselves,  in 
every  way,  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  themselves." 

"  And  are  you  really  an  advocate  of  these  women's  conven- 
tions ?"  asked  Evelyn,  seriously. 

"  Yes,  if  by  such  means  only,  right  can  assert  itself. — No, 
if  you  think  I  would  take  a  part  in  such  a  proceeding." 


210  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  If  you  think  them  necessary,  why  shrink  from  a  duty  ?" 

"  It  may  be  a  necessity  to  those  who  suffer  from  the  actual 
pressure  of  evils  that  legislation  can  correct.  I  can  very  well 
understand  that  as  society  is  now  constructed,  a  woman  may 
be  made  too  much  the  slave  of  a  worthless  or  unprincipled 
husband.  But  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  occupy  a  position  that 
in  a  measure  places  me  above  the  sufferings  by  which  women 
among  the  medium  and  lower  walks  of  life  are  often  crushed. 
There  is  also  another  objection — they  claim  too  much :  they 
wish  to  step  out  of  the  sphere  Nature  has  evidently  allotted 
to  them,  and  claim  such  privileges  as  would  destroy  the  femi- 
nine qualities  which  are  their  greatest  charm.  They  forget 
the  beautiful  words  of  Roger  Ascham  to  Lady  Jane  Grey — 
*  Women,  like  plants  in  woods,  derive  their  softness  and  ten- 
derness from  the  shade.' " 

"Right,  right,  my  wise  little  cousin.  Your  true  instinct 
teaches  you  that;  and  I  believe  the  most  sensible  among 
those  who  advocate  their  ultra  claims,  do  so  on  the  principle 
of  asking  a  great  deal  more  than  will  be  conceded,  that  they 
may  make  sure  of  gaining  the  most  important  of  their  de- 
mands." 

"  Very  likely.  There  rings  the  bell  for  lunch.  It  seems 
a  great  pity  to  leave  the  bright  sunshine,  but  my  aunt  and 
Pauline  are  waiting  for  us." 

Thus  ended  this  morning's  tete-a-tete,  and  both  entered 
the  house,  with  the  conviction  that  the  joy  of  life  lay  in  the 
presence  of  the  other. 


CHAPTER.  XVII. 

AFTER  an  absence  of  a  week,  Mr.  Harrington  returned  to 
Wavertree,  accompanied  by  Malcolm.  It  was  a  bright  even- 
ing when  the  packet  landed,  and  the  four  he  had  left  at  home 
stood  in  a  group  upon  the  levee,  to  welcome  them. 

Malcolm  glanced  rapidly  toward  Philip  Evelyn,  as  he  ap- 
proached the  party,  and  at  the  first  look,  the  refined  and 
intellectual  cast  of  the  head  seemed  insignificant  to  one  ac- 
customed to  believe  his  own  striking  style  of  person  the  beau- 
ideal  of  masculine  beauty.  That  he  was  vain  of  his  un- 
common personal  advantages,  I  do  not  mean  to  insinuate,  for 
he  was  too  proud  of  his  superiority  to  most  men  in  that 
respect,  to  be  very  vain  of  it.  He  had  so  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  see  others  of  his  sex  defer  to  his  claims,  that  he 
rather  contemptuously  thought  that  it  would  be  no  difficult 
matter  to  cast  his  youthful  rival  in  the  shade. 

Mr.  Harrington  seemed  in  buoyant  spirits,  and  in  better 
health  than  when  he  left  home ;  and  his  joyous  greeting 
to  the  members  of  the  family  infused  a  spirit  of  gladness 
among  them  all,  as  they  entered  the  house,  conversing  cheer- 
fully. 

Malcolm,  on  meeting  them,  bowed  deeply  over  the  hand 
of  each  sister,  but  he  scrupulously  avoided  meeting  the  eyes 


212 

of  Pauline.  Their  power  lie  dreaded  as  of  old,  arid  lie  came 
to  Wavertree  with  his  mind  irrevocably  made  up  as  to  the 
course  he  intended  to  pursue.  Absence  had  weakened  the 
influence  of  one  sister  and  strengthened  that  of  the  other;  the 
heart  he  knew  to  be  his  own,  with  that  caprice  so  common  to 
human  natuue,  was  valueless ;  while  the  one  that  must  be 
struggled  for,  must  be  forced  to  concede  every  thing  to  his 
power,  was  estimated  above  all  price. 

Pauline  had  discarded  her  suspicions,  and  during  the  first 
hours  of  their  meeting  she  was  too  happy  in  his  presence  to 
notice  such  slight  changes  in  his  manner  as  might  have 
warned  her  of  the  blow  about  to  fall  upon  her  heart. 

When  supper  was  over,  Mr.  Harrington  said, 

"  I  placed  my  affairs  on  so  satisfactory  a  footing,  during  my 
absence,  that  I  feel  as  if  restored  to  my  usual  fortune.  A 
liberal  fit  came  over  me,  girls,  and  I  brought  you  the  presents 
you  should  have  had  at  Christmas." 

"And  I,  too,"  said  Malcolm,  in  his  most  winning  tone, 
"  have  ventured  to  repair  my  neglect  at  that  season.  I  trust 
you  will  not  disdain  the  souvenirs  I  have  brought  ?" 

Adele,  to  whom  these  words  were  addressed,  looked  up, 
caught  the  expression  of  his  glance,  and  she  recoiled  with  a 
strange  feeling  of  repulsion,  mingled  with  surprise.  A  painful 
suspicion  flashed  across  her  mind,  but  it  wTas  instantly  re- 
pelled, and  she  frankly  said, 

"  Provided  the  offering  is  not  too  costly ;  and  your 
good  taste,  Mr.  Malcolm,  has,  doubtless,  prevented  you 
from  selecting  what  I  may  not  with  propriety  accept  from 
you." 


213 

"  If  the  valu.e  of  my  offerings  were  measured  by  my  sense 
of  the  charms  of  her  who  is  to  receive  them,  fair  Adele,  I 
should  spend  a  fortune  in  obtaining  them,"  he  replied,  in  a 
voice  so  guarded  that  no  one  present  save  herself  compre- 
hended the  import  of  his  words. 

Inexpressibly  haughty  was  the  movement  of  that  beautiful 
head,  as  Adele  regarded  him  with  an  expression  of  surprise 
he  was  at  no  loss  to  interpret,  and  his  soul  almost  quailed  be- 
fore it ;  yet  he  would  not  now  recoil,  and  in  his  eyes,  as  he 
fixed  his  gaze  on  hers,  she  read  what  made  the  blood  recede 
from  her  heart,  and  caused  a  chill,  as  of  death,  to  quiver 
through  her  veins. 

All  her  father's  obligations  to  this  man  flashed  on  'her 
mind,  and,  with  that  intuition  of  evil  which  so  often  comes  to 
us,  she  comprehended  why  Malcolm  had  taken  such  pains  to 
place  Mr.  Harrington  in  his  power.  Yet  even  this  was  not 
so  terrible  as  the  thought  that  she  had  rivaled  her  sister 
where  her  heart  was  irrevocably  bestowed ;  and  then  all  the 
double-dealing  of  this  unmasked  hypocrite  arose  before  her. 
She  felt  that  to  recoil  before  him  was  to  lose  the  little  vantage- 
ground  she  possessed,  and  with  a  glance  of  chilling  disdain, 
she  said, 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Malcolm  ;  you  make  a  slight  mistake  as 
to  whom  your  offering  is  due.  I  can  not  accept  what  was  as- 
suredly designed  for  another." 

She  turned  so  decidedly  from  him  that  he  could  not  add 
another  word.  This  aside  had  been  unnoticed  by  all  present 
except  Pauline,  and  she  was  far  from  suspecting  its  true 
meaning.  While  it  passed,  several  parcels  were  brought  in 


214 

and  placed  on  the  table.  The  party  gathered  around  it,  and 
were  soon  in  the  pleasant  excitement  of  looking  over  their 
contents. 

Three  elegantly  illustrated  books  were  presented  by  Mr. 
Harrington  to  his  sister  and  daughters,  and  then  came  the 
offerings  of  Malcolm.  A  fine  work-box  was  presented  to  Miss 
Harrington,  an  exquisitely  carved  fan,  with  a  miniature  mirror, 
set  in  precious  stones,  on  either  side,  was  for  Pauline,  and  a 
small  papier-mache  desk,  filled  with  paper  and  envelops,  bore 
the  name  of  Adele. 

The  offering  was  not  very  costly,  and  she  had  no  pretext 
for  refusing  it  at  present,  but  the  resolution  was  in  her  own 
mind  to  return  it  to  him  at  the  first  favorable  opportunity. 
Pauline's  fan  excited  the  most  admiration  ;  it  was  an  importa- 
tion from  China,  and  was  a  specimen  of  the  most  curious  and 
elaborate  carving.  It  reminded  Pauline  of  Madame  De  Stael's 
comparison  of  fine  architecture  to  frozen  music.  She  spoke 
of  it,  and  Malcolm  said, 

"  Then  is  it  a  most  appropriate  offering  to  you,  Miss  Pau- 
line ;  for  a  sweeter  minstrel  I  have  seldom  heard." 

Pauline  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face,  expecting  to  meet  his, 
but  he  was  only  looking  toward  her,  not  at  her;  and  she 
thought  it  strange  that  not  once  had  their  eyes  met  since  he 
returned.  "  What  could  this  mean  ?"  she  asked  herself,  and 
a  vague  terror  of  its  true  import,  fell  upon  her  heart.  Then 
her  father's  words  came  as  an  assurance  to  her  mind,  and  she 
would  not  listen  to  the  voice  of  warning  that  began  to  ring 
its  knell  in  her  soul. 

Adele  sat  down  beside  her  father,  and  inquired  about  Vic- 


THK  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      215 

tor.  Of  him  Mr.  Harrington  had  not  much  to  tell ;  he 
seemed  making  an  effort  to  accustom  himself  to  the  routine 
of  business,  but  great  indulgence  was  extended  to  him  on  ac- 
count of  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  reared.  Mr. 
Harrington  hoped  for  the  best,  but  if  Messrs.  Hall  had  told 
the  whole  truth,  they  would  probably  have  stated  to  his 
father,  that  it  was  a  hopeless  experiment  to  make  a  man  of 
business  of  Victor.  They  tolerated  his  presence  in  their  es- 
tablishment through  consideration  for  his  father,  but  no  trust 
of  the  slightest  importance  was  ever  confided  to  him,  because 
they  had  no  confidence  in  his  ability  to  discharge  it  in  a  sat- 
isfactory manner.  He  copied  commercial  letters  for  them 
into  immense  books  kept  for  that  purpose,  a  few  hours  every 
morning,  and  then  was  at  liberty  to  appropriate  the  rest  of 
the  day  as  he  pleased. 

Victor  made  no  effort  to  acquire  information  in  his  new 
pursuit ;  his  only  aim  seemed  to  be  to  satisfy  Mrs.  Ruskin 
that  he  was  really  doing  something  toward  his  own  support, 
that  she  might  not  force  Louise  to  break  with  him  entirely ; 
and  day  after  day,  his  heart  was  devoured  with  jealousy  as 
he  saw  his  giddy  mistress  flirting  with  some  new  admirer,  or 
smiling  more  sweetly  on  Nevin  than  he  thought  she  had  a 
right  to  do  in  her  position  toward  himself. 

Of  much  of  this  Mr.  Harrington  was  happily  ignorant, 
and  he  reported  his  son  as  doing  pretty  well,  considering  all 
things ;  and  the  sisters  listened  with  eager  interest,  hoping 
that  at  last  some  manly  feeling  of  self-dependence  had  been 
aroused  within  him.  Miss  Gertrude  sighed,  and  doubted,  but 
she  did  not  express  her  fears,  and  the  affectionate  hopes  of 


216 

those  who  loved  him  were  not  dimmed  by  a  word  or  look 
calculated  to  dispel  the  agreeable  illusion  that  Victor  was 
learning  to  be  of  some  use  to  himself  as  well  as  to  others. 

In  the  exhilaration  of  his  spirits,  Mr.  Harrington  talked 
much  more  than  usual,  and  Adele  knew  that  he  believed  him- 
self freed  from  the  immediate  pressure  of  care  concerning  his 
business  affairs.  With  the  new  light  that  had  dawned  on 
her  mind,  laying  bare  the  true  intentions  of  Malcolm,  she  felt 
a  sympathy  and  commiseration  for  him  which  she  could 
only  express  by  drawing  near  to  him,  and  clasping  his  hand 
between  both  her  own.  She  thrust  aside  the  unhappy  posi- 
tion in  which  she  herself  was  placed,  as  something  to  be 
reflected  on  when  it  was  laid  actually  before  her,  stripped  oi 
the  vague  terror  with  which  uncertainty  now  enveloped  it. 
Let  her  look  the  evil  in  the  face,  and  she  could  rise  to  strug- 
gle against  it,  for  she  eminently  possessed  that  fine  nature 
which  rebounds  beneath  the  pressure  of  evil. 

At  length  Mr.  Harrington  asked, 

"  Have  no  letters  arrived  since  T  left  ?" 

"  None  for  you,"  father,"  replied  Adele,  "  but  Cousin  Philip 
has  good  news  from  home." 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  boy  ?"  and  he  turned  and  placed  hi^ 
hand  affectionately  on  the  shoulder  of  the  young  man,  who 
had  seated  himself  at  his  other  side.  Evelyn,  thus  called  on, 
related  to  him  the  intended  marriage  of  his  sister,  and  his 
own  summons  to  the  paternal  roof  to  be  present  at  the  cere- 
mony, so  soon  as  it  would  be  safe  for  him  to  leave  his  present 
asylum.  Mr.  Harrington's  face  clouded — 

"  My  dear  Philip,  I  do  not  like  to  hear  you  speak  of  leav- 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  217 

ing  ine.  Do  you  know  that  you  have  become  almost  neces- 
sary to  me  during  the  short  months  you  have  been  here  ?  I 
shall  write  to  your  father,  and  take  on  myself  all  care  for 
your  future.  Thus  you  can  remain  in  the  climate  that  is  best 
suited  to  your  delicate  organization,  and  be  as  a  son  to  me." 

At  these  words  Malcolm  frowned,  and  bit  his  lips,  but 
without  remarking  his  emotion,  Evelyn  replied, 

"  Thank  you,  dear  sir.  We  will  talk  this  over  at  some 
other  time ;  but  whatever  my  ultimate  decision  may  be,  I 
shall  always  remember  your  kind  intentions  toward  me  with 
deep  gratitude." 

While  Philip  spoke,  Malcolm  watched  him  keenly  to  see 
if  one  glance  of  mutual  intelligence  passed  between  him  and 
Adele ;  but  he  detected  no  signs  of  an  understanding  be- 
tween them,  and  with  renewed  confidence  in  the  strength  of 
his  own  position,  he  awaited  calmly  the  issue  of  events.  He 
was  quieter  and  more  self-absorbed  than  usual,  and  at  length 
Mr.  Harrington  remarked  this.  He  turned  toward  him,  and  said, 

"  My  best  friend,  you  do  not  seem  to  enjoy  yourself  as  much 
as  I  could  wish.  He  who  has  proved  himself  so  true  to  me, 
must  not  be  permitted  to  grow  dull  beneath  my  roof-tree. 
Pauline,  my  love,  perhaps  Mr.  Malcolm  would  like  to  hear 
some  music.  You  used  to  like  to  sing  together." 

Pauline  arose  at  once,  and  went  to  the  piano ;  but  before 
Malcolm  followed  her,  he  paused  to  say, 

"  You  know,  dear  sir,  when  the  heart  is  full  of  uncertain 
hope,  the  tongue  can  not  find  many  words.  When  once  as- 
sured of  my  true  position  in  your  family,  my  usual  vivacitv 
will  return." 


218  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

He  spoke  in  an  under  tone  to  Mr.  Harrington,  but  lie  felt 
fully  assured  that  Adele  heard  and  understood  his  words,  for 
she  grew  pale,  and  trembled  at  her  father's  reply. 

"Have  little  fear  for  the  result.  My  daughter  will  not 
close  her  heart  to  the  pleadings  of  her  father's  best  friend, 
even  if  no  preference  already  exists  in  your  favor." 

A  single  bright  gleam  of  exultation  flashed  upon  the 
shrinking  Adele,  which,  seemed  to  say, 

"How  dare  you  resist  that  appeal?"  and  Malcolm  was 
gone.  She  bowed  her  head  upon  her  breast,  nor  saw  nor 
heard  any  thing  distinctly  until  the  blended  voices  of  the 
singers  arose  clear  and  thrilling  upon  the  air. 

Malcolm  sung  as  usual,  without  a  false  note  ;  but  several 
times  the  voice  of  Pauline  faltered,  and  it  seemed  to  require 
all  the  effort  she  could  make  to  go  on  with  her  part.  What 
self-control  she  was  practicing,  no  one  present  could  have 
imagined,  for  she  sung  when  a  deluge  of  anguish  was  over- 
whelming her  heart. 

Oh !  indomitable  pride  of  woman,  great  is  your  power  to 
roll  back  the  surging  waves  of  despair,  and  with  the  strength 
of  mighty  will,  bid  them  be  at  peace,  until  silence  and  soli- 
tude give  them  free  dominion,  where  there  is  no  eye  to  behold 
save  that  of  Omnipotence. 

When  the  young  girl  arose  from  the  instrument,  there  was 
a  strange  glitter  in  her  eyes,  caused  by  the  unshed  tears  that 
were  resolutely  forced  back  to  their  source.  At  length  the 
hour  for  retiring  arrived,  and  as  they  bade  each  other  good- 
night, Mr.  Harrington  said  to  Adele, 

"  My  child,  you  must  be  ill.     Your  hands  are  cold  as  ice." 


219 

"  Oh  no,  sir,  I  am  quite  well,"  she  replied  with  assumed 
cheerfulness.  "  Come,  sister,  let  us  seek  the  realm  of  dreams 
as  soon  as  possible." 

She  drew  her  arm  around  the  form  of  Pauline,  and  passed 
with  her  from  the  room.  Malcolm  arose  and  opened  the  door 
for  them — he  stood  on  the  side  next  to  Adele,  and  as  she  went 
out  with  an  expression  of  disdainful  pride  upon  her  features, 
which  she  did  not  seek  to  control,  he  breathed  into  her  ear, 

"  Examine  the  desk." 

She  gave  no  token  that  the  whisper  had  been  heard,  but 
walked  on,  almost  sustaining  the  faltering  steps  of  Pauline. 
They  reached  their  own  apartment,  and  after  placing  her 
sister  tenderly  in  a  large  chair  before  the  fire,  she  drew  a  low- 
seat  beside  her,  and  leaned  her  head  upon  the  clasped  hands 
of  Pauline. 

The  heart-stricken  girl  sat  motionless  for  many  moments, 
with  slow  tears  stealing  down  her  face.  It  was  martyrdom 
to  her  to  shed  them,  wrung  from  her  as  they  were,  over  her 
blighted  illusions.  She  at  length  found  voice  to  say, 

"  Adele,  examine  the  desk,  as  he  bade  you.  In  that,  you 
will  undoubtedly  find  a  letter  which  will  unveil  his  cruel 
policy  more  completely.  I  am  weak  now,  my  darling,  be- 
cause— because,  this  was  so  unexpected — so  terrible.  But  I 
shall  soon  be  able  to  summon  strength  to  bear  it." 

Without  a  word,  Adele  arose,  sought  for  the  desk,  which 
had  been  placed  on  her  dressing-stand,  and  opened  it.  With 
tremulous  haste  she  turned  over  the  snowy  sheets  of  writing- 
paper,  and  beneath  them  all,  found  a  letter  addressed  to  her- 
self. She  tore  it  open,  and  read, 


220  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  By  some  inexplicable  mistake  of  your  father,  I  am  placed 
in  a  most  embarrassing  position  between  yourself  and  your 
sister.  He  imagines  that  I  love  Pauline,  while  you  must 
know  that  from  the  first  hour  of  our  acquaintance  I  have 
been  enthralled  by  you  alone.  Can  you  have  ever  for  one 
moment  doubted  this,  Adele  ? 

"You  showed  by  your  manner,  that  lover-like  assiduity  was 
not  welcome  to  you,  and  I  lavished  fraternal  attention  upon 
your  sister ;  at  first,  because  she  stood  in  that  relation  to  you, 
but  afterward,  because  I  really  cherished  a  high  esteem  and 
admiration  for  her.  Pauline  herself  will  exonerate  me  from 
ever  having  expressed  any  thing  warmer  than  friendship,  and 
that  I  am  proud  and  happy  to  claim  from  her. 

"  But  from  you — 0  Adele,  I  have  written  calmly,  but  my 
heart  is  on  fire  with  a  passion  which  can  dare  any  thing 
sooner  than  be  disappointed.  Words  are  poor  and  powerless 
to  express  the  half  of  my  emotions ;  they  are  but  sounds, 
but  what  I  feel  is  a  terrible,  powerful,  overmastering  reality. 
Be  mine,  and  all  that  human  effort  can  attain  shall  be  done 
for  the  happiness  of  you  and  yours ; — refuse,  and  I  can  not 
answer  for  myself.  I  know  not  to  what  depths  the  demon 
you  will  then  arouse  within  me  may  impel  me,  in  abusing 
the  power  I  hold  over  the  destiny  of  all  you  love. 

"  O,  pardon  me  this  threat,  my  best-loved  Adele ;  for  I 
would  not  have  you  driven  into  my  arms  by  fear.  Love  me, 
love  me,  for  I  swear  that  I  can  prove  myself  worthy  of  your 
love,  although  I  have  schemed  and  planned  to  force  you  to 
concede  it  to  me,  should  other  means  fail.  Examine  our  ac- 
tual position  toward  each  other  in  all  its  bearings,  and  re- 


221 

member  that  I  am  either  the  joyful  guardian  of  your  future  : 
happiness,  or  the  hard  and  ruthless  creditor  you  will  make  me 
to  your  father. 

"  Accept  my  offered  hand,  and  I  cancel  the  mortgage  I 
hold  on  his  property  and  restore  him  to  independence  at 
once ;  refuse,  and  I  dare  not  answer  for  myself,  for  every 
good  and  true  feeling  will  then  he  turned  to  gall  and  bitter- 
ness. R.  M." 


Adele  read,  and  trembled.  This  cold,  hard  man  here  as- 
sumed a  new  character  to  her.  As  steel  is  made  from  heated 
iron,  she  felt  that  his  fierce  passions  would  harden  under  dis- 
appointment into  something  terrible  to  contend  with.  She 
held  the  letter  in  her  nerveless  grasp,  her  mind  in  a  confused 
whirl  of  conflicting  feelings  and  interests. 

With  feverish  eagerness,  Pauline  had  watched  her  as  she 
read,  and  she  held  out  her  hand  for  the  letter. 

"  I  must  read  it,  Adcle," 

"  0 !  my  dear  sister,"  she  tearfully  exclaimed,  "  ask  me  not. 
It  is  too,  too  cruel.  It  will  break  your  heart." 

Pauline  smiled  strangely,  and  there  was  something  ineffably 
touching  in  her  voice,  as  she  said, 

"  My  heart  is  harder  than  you  think.  The  worst  is  passed, 
Adele.  I  know  that  he  never  loved  me,  then  why  doubt  my 
firmness  to  bear  all  things  also  ?  The  very  cruelty  to  which 
you  refer,  may  be  as  a  tower  of  strength  to  me.  Let  me  read 
it ;  I  claim  it  as  my  right." 

Thus  constrained,  Adele  gave  her  the  letter.  She  ran  her 
eyes  over  the  lines,  and,  at  first,  a  slight  spot  of  crimson 


222  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

glowed  on  her  cheek,  to  fade  away  in  the  pallor  of  seeming 
death,  as  she  came  to  the  conclusion.  She  had  overrated  her 
powers  of  endurance,  for  she  lay  before  Adele  perfectly  insen- 
sible, and  nearly  as  cold  as  if  death  had  really  claimed  her  as 
his  own. 

Repressing  her  own  violent  agitation,  Adele  had*  firmness 
to  restrain  her  first  impulse  to  call  for  assistance.  She  un- 
derstood the  proud  reserve  of  Pauline's  character,  and  she 
knew  it  would  aggravate  her  sufferings  tenfold,  to  know  that 
others  were  aware  of  her  indisposition  at  such  a  crisis.  She 
brought  essences  from  the  toilette,  and  bathed  her  pale  face  ; 
she  chafed  her  cold  hands  in  her  own,  and  was  finally  re- 
warded by  returning  symptoms  of  animation. 

With  a  long-drawn  sigh,  Pauline  unclosed  her  eyes,  beheld 
the  anxious  face  of  her  who  knelt  before  her,  and  siuTering 
her  head -to  droop  upon  her  shoulder,  she  wept  long  and 
silently. 

At  length  Adele  softly  said, 

"  You  do  not  blame  me,  dearest  ?  This  shall  not  estrange 
our  hearts  from  each  other  ?" 

Pauline  threw  her  arms  round  her  and  clasped  her  fondly 
to  her  bosom. 

"  Never,  never — let  us  cling  together,  my  sister ;  and  give 
not  a  bad  man  the  power  to  come  between  us  and  sever  our 
hearts  from  each  other." 

"  You  pardon,  then,  my  involuntary  crime  against  you  ? 
O,  Pauline,  how  little  worth  is  this  fatal  beauty,  when  com- 
pared with  your  goodness !  That  man  is  blind,  infatuated, 
or  he  must  have  seen  this.  God  is  punishing  him  for  some 


223 

evil  he  has  committed,  when  he  permits  him  to  turn  from  the 
brightest  boon  fate  can  bestow,  a  pure,  loving,  woman's  heart. 
May  the  hour  come  to  him  in  which  he  will  feel  and  compre- 
hend this  in  all  its  bitterness." 

" '  Vengeance  is  mine,'  saith  the  Lord,"  said  Pauline,  sol- 
emnly. "Denounce  him  not,  my  sister;  but  leave  him  to 
that  higher  wisdom  which  permits  not  wrong  toward  the 
helpless  and  unoftending  to  pass  unpunished.  Let  us  pray 
that  his  hard  heart  may  be  tamed  from  its  cruel  purpose 
toward  one  who  has  trusted  him  so  implicitly  as  our  poor 
father  has." 

A  dele  shuddered. 

"  There,  there  is  the  horror.  He  has  him  completely  in 
his  power ;  he  makes  mo  the  price  of  his  freedom  from 
the  galling  bondage  of  debt,  while  my  whole  soul  recoils 
from  him." 

Pauline  grasped  her  hand,  and  fixed  her  dilating  eyes  upon 
her. 

"  You  will  not  give  yourself  to  him,  Adele  ?  it  would  be 
severing  us  forever.  I  can  cast  my  fatal  dream  of  love 
into  oblivion,  but  I  can  not  see  you  take  the  place  I  once 
thought  my  own,  and  live.  O !  it  will  take  a  long  and 
bitter  struggle  to  tear  the  image  of  that  false  one  from  my 
heart." 

Her  agitation  was  frightful.  Adele  felt  the  necessity  of 
calming  her ;  she  knelt  before  her,  took  her  cold  hands  in 
her  own,  and  pressing  them  upon  her  troubled  heart,  sol- 
emnly said, 

"  Hear  me,  Pauline,  and  believe  me.    I  pledge  you  the 


224      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

word  of  one  who  loves  you  truly,  that  I  will  endure  any  evil 
sooner  than  become  the  wife  of  Mr.  Malcolm.  I  would 
sooner  labor  for  my  bread,  than  owe  wealth  to  his  forbear- 
ance. I  could  lay  down  my  life  for  you,  rather  than  usurp 
the  place  he  led  you  to  believe  belonged  to  you  alone." 

Pauline  seemed  soothed  by  this  assurance,  but  after  reflect- 
ing a  few  moments,  she  feebly  said, 

"  I  am  very  selfish  to  exact  such  a  promise,  Adele,  when  it 
may  be  necessary  to  our  father's  interests  that  you  shall  en- 
deavor to  return  the  passionate  love  you  seem  to  have  in- 
spired." 

"  It  is  not  now  a  question  of  interest,  Pauline ;  but  one  of 
feeling.  Our  father  is  too  honorable,  too  just  a  man,  and  he 
loves  us  too  dearly  to  submit  to  the  insult  this  ruthless  man 
has  offered  to  us  both.  How  dared  he  come  beneath  our 
own  roof,  to  play  the  lover  to  one  daughter,  while  the  other 
was  really  the  object  of  his  pursuit  ?  It  fills  me  with  dis- 
dainful resentment  to  think  of  his  conduct." 

"  Forgive  him,  for  my  sake,"  murmured  the  unhappy  girl. 
"  0, 1  am  weak — weak — I  can  not  bear  to  hear  him  spoken 
of  in  such  terms.  Ah  !  why  did  Heaven  bestow  on  him  so 
much  that  is  noble,  and  mar  all  by  withholding  truth  and 
honor  ?" 

Adele  gazed  on  her  with  deep  compassion.  Darker  than 
the  "  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,"  was  the  pathway  her 
unhappy  sister  had  now  entered  on,  and  long  must  she  wan- 
der therein  before  she  could  again  behold  a  glimpse  of  sun- 
shine on  her  weary  way.  She  could  understand  the  power 
such  a  man  as  Malcolm  must  long  hold  over  one  who  had 


225 

given  him  the  first  love  of  a  generous  and  tender  heart. 
Slow  to  be  won  had  Pauline  been,  and  this  was  the  end  of 
her  only  dream  of  wedded  happiness. 

This  was  a  wretched  night  to  the  two  sisters.  Neither 
slept  at  all ;  Pauline,  in  the  first  anguish  of  wounded  feeling, 
felt  as  if  death  would  be  welcome,  for  she  believed  that  alone 
could  still  the  convulsive  agony  that  rived  her  heart.  Adele 
did  as  Malcolm  bade  her ;  she  endeavored  calmly  to  examine 
their  actual  position  toward  each  other  ;  to  realize  all  the  evil 
power  he  possessed  over  the  fortunes  of  one  so  dear  to  her  as 
her  father ;  but  all  her  reflections  ended  in  the  conviction 
that  any  fate  would  be  preferable  to  the  acceptance  of  Mal- 
colm as  her  future  husband. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE  following  morning  dawned  clear  and  bright  as  if  no 
cloud  had  ever  marred  the  tranquil  beauty  of  the  azure  vault 
which  overarched  crime,  and  wrong,  and  fraud,  and  goodness, 
and  truth  ;  smiling  on  all  alike ;  inviting  the  evil  to  repent- 
ance, and  the  good  to  adoration,  for  that  mercy  which  gives 
sunshine  and  rain  alike  to  the  just  and  the  unjust. 

Malcolm  was  up  with  the  dawn,  for  he  too  had  passed  a 
restless  night,  and  when  he  did  sleep,  dreams  of  unpleasant 
augury  filled  his  troubled  slumbers.  A  fear  he  would  not 
acknowledge,  filled  his  heart,  that  in  spite  of  the  interests 
which  appealed  so  powerfully  to  Adele,  she  would  refuse  to 
avert  ruin  to  her  father  at  such  a  price.  What  then  would 
be  his  course  ?  He  almost  trembled  at  the  dark  and  bitter 
thoughts  which  such  a  supposition  alone  engendered.  He, 
the  proud  in  heart,  and  high  in  station,  had  condescended  to 
become  an  intriguer,  a  deceiver,  almost  a  sharper,  to  gain 
the  control  of  this  girl's  destiny,  and  yet  her  obstinacy  might 
defeat  all  his  skillfully  laid  plans.  He  clenched  his  hands, 
and  ground  his  teeth  together  at  the  bare  thought. 

He  glanced  his  eye  around  on  the  luxuriant  fields,  and  sub- 
stantial evidences  of  wealth,  before  him,  and  thought, 

"  Let  her  refuse  me  if  she  dares,  and  all  this  can  become 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTEB.  227 

mine.  I  can  cast  forth  all  she  loves  to  poverty,  and  by 
Heaven  !  I  will  do  it  should  she  prove  intractable." 

Then  came  the  conviction  of  the  worthlessness  of  all  these 
additional  possessions,  if  he  failed  to  gain  her  he  so  ardently 
desired  to  win.  He  was  already  rich  beyond  his  desires  ;  he 
was  not  mercenary ;  then  of  what  value  could  the  property 
of  the  ruined  family  be  to  him  who  possessed  more  than  he 
cared  to  use  ?  He  only  wished  to  control  it,  as  a  means  of 
crushing  her  beneath  the  iron  weight  of  broken  fortunes,  until 
she  would  gladly  accept  the  hand  that  offered  wealth,  how- 
ever repulsive  to  her  feelings  its  possessor  might  be. 

It  was  something  to  triumph  over  her  even  thus — to  bring 
her  humbled  and  yielding  to  his  heart — ready  to  cast  the 
past  into  oblivion,  and  feign  gratitude  and  affection,  even 
when  she  felt  them  not.  The  disdainful  haughtiness  of  Adele 
on  the  previous  evening  had  pierced  him  to  the  soul,  and  he 
felt  a  fierce  joy  in  beholding  her,  in  imagination,  bending  be- 
neath the  iron  power  he  had  established  over  her  destiny. 

As  he  thus  mused,  Malcolm  paced  up  and  down  the  piazza 
with  that  rapid  and  uneven  tread  which  corresponded  with 
the  emotions  sweeping  through  his  mind.  The  sisters  heard 
the  monotonous  echo  of  those  impatient  footsteps  even  in 
their  apartment,  and  both  knew  perfectly  well  by  whom  they 
were  made. 

Adele  arose,  and  made  her  toilette,  trying,  while  thus  oc- 
cupied, to  nerve  herself  for  the  meeting  she  was  resolute  to 
seek  as  soon  as  possible. 

Pauline  too,  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  she  sunk  back,  too 
weak  and  feverish  to  succeed  in  the  attempt.  She  felt  that 


228 

she  was  ill — there  was  an  acute  pain  in  her  temples  which 
/  seemed  to  dull  the  mental  anguish  she  had  borne  throughout 
the  night,  by  the  stupefaction  of  physical  suffering. 

A  dele  did  not  speak  to  her  until  she  was  quite  ready  to  go 
out.  She  then  came  to  the  bedside,  and  tenderly  kissed  the 
throbbing  brow  of  her  sister.  She  held  the  desk  in  her  hand, 
and  Pauline  muttered, 

"  The  fan — take  that  too.  I  can  not  keep  it ;  the  air  from 
it  might  perhaps  cool  this  burning  fever,  for  I  know  it  would 
be  as  chilling  to  me  as  a  polar  breeze,  but  the  sight  of  it 
would  make  me  worse.  Take  it  to  him  ;  I  care  not  what  he 
thinks.  He  knows  I  loved  him — my  pride  can  not  be  saved 
there ;  but  he  shall  also  learn  that  I  have  too  much  self- 
respect  to  retain  his  gift." 

"  I  will  do  so,  darling  ;  but  you  seem  very  ill.  Let  me  call 
my  aunt,  and  send  for  Dr.  Germain." 

"  No — no — I  charge  you  say  nothing  about  it.  Solitude — 
solitude  is  all  I  need.  Medicine  can  not  aid  me :  it  is  the 
soul  that  grieves  and  flutters,  and  sends  this  feverish  torrent 
through  my  veins.  Give  me  time  to  become  reasonable — to 
arrange  my  future  conduct,  and  I  shall  rise  up,  looking,  to  the 
outside  world,  as  usual.  Oh,  Adele,  how  many  hearts  have 
brokenly  lived  on.  Mine  will  only  be  one  more  added  to  the 
sad  catalogue.  I  must  speak  now  while  the  fever  and  the 
anguish  are  upon  me,  and  the  weight  will  seem  less  heavy 
when  shared  with  another." 

There  was  the  wildness  of  incipient  delirium  in  her  voice 
and  eyes,  and  Adele  spoke  soothingly  to  her,  while  she  bathed 
her  brow  in  cold  water.  Pauline  presently  closed  her  eyes, 


.      229 

and  lay  perfectly  cairn ;  hoping  that  she  slept,  Adele  placed 
the  fan  in  the  desk,  and  after  a  long  and  tender  gaze  upon 
her  pale  face,  departed  on  her  painful  errand. 

In  strange  contrast  with  her  own  feelings,  all  the  soft  beauty 
of  the  morning  came  home  to  her  heart,  as  she  stepped  fortli 
on  the  piazza,  and  looked  out  on  the  glittering  sunshine  bath- 
ing her  beautiful  home  in  its  bright  beams.  Every  memory 
of  her  life  was  entwined  with  this  spot,  and  yet  she  must  pro- 
nounce the  words,  which,  in  all  human  probability  ,would 
-exile  her  beloved  father  from  the  scenes  which  were  so  dear 
to  him. 

It  was  a  fearful  responsibility,  and  for  one  moment  her 
courage  failed  her,  but  the  approach  of  Malcolm,  with  looks 
of  passionate  admiration  beaming  on  his  expressive  face, 
aroused  the  deepest  repulsion  her  gentle  nature  had  ever  known. 

He  offered  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  drew  back  so  coldly, 
that  he  was  offended.  He  said, 

"  I  had  indulged  the  hope  that  a  night's  reflection  would 
induce  you  to  feel  that  we  must  meet  as  friends,  Miss  Adele 
Harrington." 

"  It  has  only  taught  me  that  under  the  mask  of  honor  and 
friendship,  the  most  deadly  blow  may  be  dealt  at  the  peace 
of  those  who  trust  such  men  as  you." 

As  Adele  spoke,  she  took  the  desk  from  beneath  the  shawl 
she  had  thrown  around  her  to  protect  her  from  the  morning 
air,  and  placed  it  on  a  flower-stand  that  stood  in  an  angle  of 
the  piazza.  Malcolm  regarded  it  with  a  sardonic  expression. 

"  So,  you  refuse  my  gift.  Is  that  an  augury  of  what  is  to 
follow  ?" 


230 

"  If  you  will  accept  it  as  such,  it  will  save  me  much  suf- 
fering." 

He  looked  at  the  pale  cheeks,  usually  so  bright  with  health 
and  hope — he  saw  the  trembling  lips,  and  he  felt  that  he 
possessed  power  of  some  kind,  if  it  did  not  extend  to  the 
control  of  her  affections,  and  he  exulted  in  it.  Her  first  words 
had  stung  him  deeply,  and  he  felt  his  heart  hardening  to  her 
evident  suffering.  He  deliberately  said, 

"  I  can  not  accept  it  in  that  light.  You,  yourself  have  too 
much  at  stake,  sincerely  to  wish  me  to  do  so." 

"  But  I  do,  most  earnestly,  most  truly,  I  assure  you,"  she 
eagerly  replied.  "  You  wrong  yourself,  Mr.  Malcolm.  You 
are  too  generous  to  abuse  the  power  you  have  so  unright- 
eously obtained,  to  the  injury  of  those  who  aro  dear  to  me, 
because — because  I  can  not  love  you." 

"  Why  can  you  not,  Adele  ?"  he  passionately  asked.  "  Am 
I  repulsive,  hateful  in  your  sight,  that  even  such  motives  as 
you  have  for  tolerating  my  suit,  possess  no  weight  with 
vou  ?" 

She  replied  in  a  subdued  tone,  for  she  felt  as  if  inflicting  a 
wrong  upon  her  unhappy  sister  by  even  alluding  to  her  posi- 
';on  toward  Malcolm, 

"  Is  there  not  a  reason  for  declining  it,  which  must  have 
greater  weight  with  an  affectionate  and  true  heart,  than  all 
the  motives  you  can  array  in  its  favor  ?"  • 

He  listened  conscience-stricken.     Presently  he  said, 

"  I  have  explained  that  misconception.  Pauline  can  not 
accuse  me — " 

"  Hold,  sir !"  said   the   young   girl,  with   dignity.     "  My 


231 

sister  accuses  you  of  nothing.  Her  name  need  not  be  called 
in  tins  discussion.  I  refer  now  to  what  1  myself  have  seen. 
I,  like  the  rest  of  my  family,  was  impressed  with  the  belief 
that  you  sought  Pauline  as  your  wife,  and  your  attentions  to 
her  could  bear  no  other  interpretation.  You  sought  her 
love  in  every  honorable  manner ;  at  times,  I  am  sure,  you 
must  have  preferred  her ;  and  it  seems  to  me  some  terrible 
hallucination  which  makes  you  now  assert  a  preference  for 
me." 

Malcolm  smiled  sarcastically. 

"  You  must  be  a  rare  judge  of  human  nature,  fair  Adele, 
for  you  have  analyzed  a  feeling  I  was  scarcely  conscious  of 
myself.  There  were  moments  when  your  sister  greatly 
attracted  me ;  when,  had  you  been  away,  I  might,  perhaps, 
have  wooed  her  to  my  heart.  But,  mark  me  ;  even  in  those 
moments,  one  glance  at  your  person,  one  tone  of  your  voice, 
brought  me  back  to  you,  and  I  felt  that  you  were  the  true 
divinity  before  whom  my  spirit  bowed." 

"  Then  was  your  conduct  most  cruel  to  her  and  insulting 
to  me.  Never  will  I  pardon  it ;  never  give  him  who  was 
capable  of  playing  this  double  part,  greater  power  over  my 
fate  than  he  now  possesses." 

"  When  you  are  fully  aware  of  the  extent  of  that  power, 
you  may  possibly  change  your  conduct  to  me.  Adele,  try 
me  not  too  far.  I  adore  you.  I  would  be  the  bestower  of 
good  on  all  connected  with  you ;  pause,  then,  ere  you  decide 
to  make  me  your  bitter  and  implacable  foe.  I  offer  you 
such  love  as  men  rarely  feel  —  or  that  hatred  which  is 
born  of  the  despair  of  slighted  passion.  Such  men  as  I 


232  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

know  no  medium — reflect  well,  then,  ere  you.  decide  against 
my  suit." 

His  face  was  white  with  repressed  anger,  and  his  eyes 
glowed  like  vivid  fire  as  he  fastened  their  gaze,  half  of 
menace,  half  of  passion,  upon  her.  Adele  shrank  before  it 
as  from  something  she  could  not,  dared  not  comprehend  in 
all  its  intensity  of  meaning.  She  veiled  her  face  and  stood 
silent  and  trembling  for  several  moments  ;  but  never,  for  one 
instant,  did  her  determi nation  falter.  Her  sister's  rival 
no  earthly  temptation  should  induce  her 'to  become;  and, 
after  collecting  her  bewildered  thoughts,  she  looked  calmly 
up  and  said, 

"  You  have  threatened  me  with  your  power  over  the  for- 
tunes of  my  father ;  learn  from  me  that  so  great  is  my  love 
for  him,  that,  for  his  sake,  I  might  have  struggled  against 
the  repulsion  I  feel  to  the  idea  of  becoming  your  wife, 
and,  in  time,  have  possibly  cultivated  some  feeling  of  tender- 
ness for  you  ;  but  this,  your  own  unmanly  course  toward 
another  most  dear  to  me,  has  rendered  impossible.  Threats 
nor  persuasions  can  ever  induce  me  to  stand  beside  you 
as  the  partner  of  that  life  which  should  be  shared  with 
another." 

Malcolm's  head  drooped  upon  his  breast  and  his  eyes 
lowered  before  the  clear  glance  bent  unfalteringly  upon  him. 
He  muttered, 

"  We  shall  see,  we  shall  see.  Wait  till  you  have  seen  your 
father — have  heard  all  he  has  to  say." 

"  He  will  sustain  me  in  what  I  have  said ;  that  you  have 
defeated  your  own  wishes  by  acting  a  double  part,  where 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  238 

every  impulse  of  truth  and  honor  should  have  made  you  show 
which  was  the  sister  really  preferred." 

"  Miss  Harrington,  your  words  are  hard  to  bear.  Will  you 
answer  me  one  question  with  the  same  frankness  with  which 
you  have  hitherto  spoken  ?" 

"  I  will,  if  I  can  with  propriety  do  so." 

"  Then  tell  me  if  you  were  not  quiteraware,  from  the  day 
of  our  first  acquaintance,  that  you  had  inspired  me  with 
ardent  admiration  ?" 

Adele  blushed  and  slightly  hesitated,  for  such  had 
been  her  first  impression ;  but  she  paused  only  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  I  will  speak  the  truth,  painful  as  it  is  to  me.  You,  like 
many  others,  seemed  charmed  with  this  poor  perishing 
beauty,  of  which  I  so  often  have  the  consciousness  unpleas- 
antly forced  upon  me.  I  do  not  value  admiration  elicited  by 
my  personal  advantages  alone ;  and  when  a  man  of  your 
cultivation  and  good  sense,  on  further  acquaintance,  seemed 
attracted  by  the  mental  superiority  of  my  sister,  I  rejoiced 
that  it  was  so  ;  and  esteemed  you  more  highly,  that  you  had 
the  good  taste  to  appreciate  her." 

"  Expressed  in  a  most  sisterly  and  affectionate  manner," 
replied  he,  with  veiled  sarcasm.  "  But  I  appeal  to  you  to  do 
me  this  much  justice.  Remember  that,  from  the  first,  I 
showed  my  predilection  for  yourself,  and  what  followed  was 
only  an  effort  on  my  part,  to  gain  the  good  opinion  of  her 
who  seemed  as  your  second  self.  She  possessed  great  in- 
fluence with  you,  I  well  knew  ;  and  to  gain  that  was  my  chief 
object  in  devoting  myself  to  her  as  I  did." 


234  ^^ 

"  You,  who  have  had  so  much  greater  experience  in  life 
than  I  have,  should  know  that  in  matters  of  this  kind,  the 
heart  alone  must  speak.  The  praises  of  another  as  often 
disgust  as  they  preposses  in  favor  of  an  aspirant  for  the 
affections." 

"  It  is  not  thus  with  all  women ;  many  are  won  as  Bene- 
dict gained  his  bride." 

Adele's  lips  slightly  curled. 

"  In  Beatrice,  Shakespeare  may  have  truly  portrayed  one 
phase  of  the  womanly  character,  but  not  the  highest.  You 
misjudged  me  if  you  supposed  that  I  belong  to  that  class  of 
women." 

Malcolm  walked  a  few  steps  from  her,  and  then  returned. 

"  Would  to  God  you  belonged  to  those  who  can  be 
wrought  on  by  any  ordinary  motives.  Will  nothing  induce 
you  to  reconsider  your  determination  ?  Adele,  have  mercy 
on  me — on  yourself — for  your  consent  to  become  mine  will 
save  such  suffering  to  others  as  you  would  willingly  avert 
from  them,  if  you  only  comprehend  its  extent." 

He  again  made  an  effort  to  take  her  hand,  though  the 
pale,  fixed  features  offered  no  encouragement  to  do  so.  She 
quietly  evaded  him,  and  said  gently,  but  firmly, 

"  My  reply  has  already  been  given,  Mr.  Malcolm ;  I  assure 
you,  that  any  further  effort  toward  changing  my  resolution 
will  be  useless.  Use  as  you  will  the  power  you  have  so  un- 
righteously sought,  my  father  will,  I  am  sure,  sustain  me  in 
the  course  I  have  pursued.  Consider  this  interview  as  final, 
for  with  my  consent,  we  meet  no  more." 

She  flitted  past  him,  but  he  detained  her  almost  forcibly 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  235 

by  grasping  her  dress.  Malcolm  endeavored  to  quell  th« 
rush  of  passionate  anger  that  swept  through  his  breast ;  but 
the  fierce  struggle  was  mirrored  on  his  features,  and  Adele 
turned  her  eyes  away,  that  she  might  not  behold  what  filled 
her  with  terror  and  disgust. 

"  I  have  but  one  thing  more  to  say,  and  to  that  you  shall 
listen.  Had  not  that  pale-faced  Evelyn  made  his  abode  be- 
neath the  same  roof,  your  answer  might  not  have  been  so 
positive.  Adele  Harrington,  you  love  another." 

The  bright  crimson  leaped  to  the  cheek  of  the  young  girl, 
and  an  indignant  denial  arose  to  her  lips ;  but  the  words  died 
away,  and  she  grew  faint  as  she  felt  the  piercing  gaze  of  Mal- 
colm reading  her  very  soul.  She  slowly  said, 

"  I  might  refuse  to  reply  to  a  charge  thus  rudely  and  un- 
warrantably brought ;  but  I  will  say,  that  no  words  of  mu- 
tual love  have  ever  passed  between  myself  and  any  suitor." 

"  Of  what  need  are  words,  when  glances  can  so  well  sup- 
ply their  place  ?  You  have  not — you  dare  not  deny  the 
truth  of  my  accusation." 

"  I  must  first  learn  by  what  right  you  bring  it,"  said  Adele, 
haughtily.  "Let  me  pass,  sir;  I  have  already  borne  your 
presence  too  long." 

He  bowed  proudly,  loosened  his  grasp  upon  her  robe,  and 
stepped  aside. 

"Go,"  he  sternly  said,  "and  carry  with  you  the  knowl- 
edge that  you  have  consummated  the  ruin  of  your  father. 
Let  that  remembrance  come  to  you  as  a  life-long  reproach, 
for  now  I  am  nerved  for  any  thing." 

Adele  fled  to  hor  own  room,  weeping  tears  of  outraged 


236  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

pride,  and  wounded  sensibility,  which  she  could  not  repress. 
Malcom's  words  had  forced  her  to  look  into  her  own  heart, 
and  the  veil  which  had  concealed  her  true  feelings  was  rudely 
torn  aside.  She  comprehended  now  why  his  overtures  filled 
her  with  such  deep  repulsion ;  and  with  terror  she  felt 
^  ,  that  her  secret  was  at  the  mercy  of  another.  His  jealous 
heart  had  fathomed  in  a  few  hours,  what  she  had  sedulously 
concealed  even  from  herself. 

She  found  Pauline  in  a  light  slumber,  the  effect  of  exhaus- 
tion, from  which  she  aroused  herself  a  few  moments  after  her 
sister's  entrance.  Adele  wiped  away  the  traces  of  her  tears, 
and  beheld  with  deep  alarm  the  change  the  last  hour  had 
wrought  in  her.  The  deathlike  pallor  of  her  features  was 
now  brightened  by  a  vivid  spot  of  crimson  on  each  cheek, 
which  lighted  up  her  eyes  with  almost  supernatural  lustre. 
She  murmured  snatches  of  her  favorite  songs,  and  talked  in 
the  intervals  in  so  wild  a  manner,  that  Adele  listened  in 
shuddering  terror. 

Many  of  the  most  thrilling  strains  from  Norma,  where  her 
broken  heart  is  wailed  forth,  were  given  with  startling  effect, 
and  then  she  paused,  and  muttered, 

"  I  sing  too  loud.  He  will  hear  me — he  will  comprehend 
what  those  strains  so  well  express.  O !  my  life  is  desolate — 
desolate — my  dreams  all  vanished,"  and  her  voice  sank  in  a 
low  whisper,  as  if  with  this  consciousness  all  power  to  wrestle 
with  the  dreary  phantoms  that  encompassed  her  had  suddenly 
departed.  She  lay  with  closed  eye-lids,  through  which  bitter 
tears  forced  themselves,  and  flowed  over  her  flushed  cheeks. 

Adele  softly  took  her  hnnd,  and  her  presence  seemed  to 


237 

restore  to  Pauline  a  dim  consciousness  of  what  had  so  lately 
passed.     She  feebly  said, 

"  You  have  seen  him.  Tell  me  how  the  interview  ended. 
Did  you  leave  him  no  hope  of  success  with  you  ?  Are  you 
sure  you  left  him  none  ?" 

"  Quite  sure,  my  dear  sister.  Compose  yourself ;  all  is 
ended  with  Mr.  Malcolm,  so  far  as  we  are  both  concerned." 

"  All !"  and  she  started  up.  "  And  shall  I  see  him  no 
more  !  hear  the  echoes  of  his  voice  only  in  my  own  soul ! 
Cruel,  cruel,  to  let  a  fair  face  come  between  himself  and  the 
heart  that  so  truly  loves  him.  0,  Adele,  why  did  nature 
deny  me  that  outward  beauty  that  never  fails  to  win  ?" 

Again  she  sunk  back,  quite  exhausted,  and  Adele,  in  great 
alarm,  was  about  to  summon  her  aunt,  when  she  entered  the 
room.  The  unusual  sounds  proceeding  from  the  apartment 
of  her  nieces,  had  aroused  Miss  Gertrude,  and  she  came  to 
learn  their  import.  She  was  shocked  at  the  appearance  of 
Pauline,  and  earnestly  inquired, 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Why  do  I  find  your  sister  thus, 
my  child  ?" 

Adele  replied,  with  bitter  indignation^ 

u  Her  heart  is  broken  by  the  cruel  treachery  of  one  un- 
worthy to  claim  even  a  passing  thought  from  her.-" 

Before  Miss  Harrington  could  reply,  the  voice  of  her  brother 
was  heard  at  the  door. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  girls  ?  Kitty  tells  me  that  Pauline 
is  ill." 

Adele  opened  the  door,  and  the  sight  of  her  distressed  face 
filled  him  with  alarm. 


238 


M  Good  Heavens !  wliat  is  it,  Adele  ?  Is  your  sister  so 
very  ill  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  she  is,  sir.  Look  at  her ;  how  wild  and  worn 
she  is.  I  wished  to  send  for  Dr.  Germain  when  I  first  arose, 
but  she  insisted  that  I  should  not." 

Pauline,  overcome  by  physical  and  mental  suffering,  lay 
half  insensible,  and  Mr.  Harrington  gazed  on  her  with 
dismay. 

"  Gertrude,  dear  sister,  send  for  the  doctor,  without  delay  , 
my  daughter  is  dangerously  ill." 

Miss  Harrington  left  the  room  to  fulfill  his  request,  and  he 
turned  to  Adele,  with  a  bewildered  air, 

"  Is  there  any  reason  for  this  sudden  attack,  that  you  can 
fathom  ?" 

"  Dearest  father,  I  fear  there  is,"  said  the  trembling  girl, 
clasping  his  hand  in  her  own,  and  tenderly  pressing  it. 
Adele  knew  all  the  danger  of  sudden  and  violent  excitement- 
to  her  father,  and  she  would  willingly  have  given  a  portion 
of  her  own  life  to  spare  him  the  blow  about  to  fall. 

Mr.  Harrington  sank  into  a  chair  that  stood  beside  the  bed, 
and  seemed  to  summon  all  his  fortitude  to  bear  what  was  to 
follow.  He  presently  said  in  a  hollow  tone, 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  Adele.  I  am  quite  in  the 
dark.  Last  night  every  thing  seemed  so  happy — why  should 
Pauline  be  ill  to-day,  when  her  lover  is  here  to  tell  the  tale  to 
which  I  know  she  is  not  indifferent  ?" 

"  The  tale  is  already  told,  my  father,  and  you  behold  its 
effects." 

Still   he  could    not    understand  what  was    dimly  fore- 


239 

shadowed  by  the  distress  of  Adele,  and  he  said  with  irri- 
tation, 

"  Speak  plainly,  child.  I  am  no  seer,  and  can  not  foresee 
what  is  about  to  happen." 

"The  worst  to  Pauline  has  already  happened,  father.  She 
knows  that  her  fervent  love  is  slighted,  her  heart  left  to  break, 
by  him  who  once  seemed  to  value  it." 

A  tide  of  crimson  rushed  to  the  face  of  the  father,  and  he 
clenched  his  hands  until  the  nails  buried  themselves  in  the 
flesh. 

"He,  he—Malcolm  has  not  dared  to  act  thus  by  my 
daughter?  There  is  some  misconception — he  is  honorable, 
liberal.  O,  she  has  misunderstood  him  sadly." 

"  There  is  no  misunderstanding  this,  father,"  and  she  drew 
forth  Malcolm's  last  letter,  which  she  had  delayed  returning 
for  this  purpose.  That  said  all  that  was  necessary  and  spared 
her  a  most  painful  explanation. 

As  Mr.  Harrington  read,  his  face  darkened,  and  large  drops 
gathered  upon  his  forehead.  When  he  finished,  he  bent 
his  head  down,  and  held  the  paper  so  as  to  conceal  the  work- 
ing of  his  features  from  his  daughter.  She  only  pressed  the 
hand  she  still  held  to  her  lips,  and  waited  for  him  to  speak. 
He  presently  asked, 

"  Did  you  suspect  this,  Adele  ?  Did  ho  ever  give  you 
reason  to  suppose  that  he  preferred  you  ?" 

"  Until  last  night  I  believed  him  devoted  to  Pauline,"  she 
briefly  replied. 

"  And  now,  what  says  your  heart  ?"  asked  her  father. 

"  That  its  owner  would  sooner  face  poverty,  toil,  hardship 
16 


240 

in  any  form,  than  give  herself  to  one  who  has  shown  himself 
so  destitute  of  principle  and  feeling." 

"Right,  right  —  there  spoke  my  own  child,"  he  saiu, 
with  emotion.  "  Traitor !  I  now  comprehend  his  game ; 
but  it  shall  not  whelm  me  in  ruin,  although  you  do  refuse 
him.  With  good  fortune  on  my  side,  I  can  baffle  him 
yet." 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that  assurance,  my  dear  father ;  for  a 
Bad  fear  weighed  on  my  heart,  even  when  I  declared  to  him 
that  I  would  never  marry  him." 

"  You  have  seen  him,  then  ?     When  ?" 

\  "  This  morning.  I  sought  him  when  I  heard  him  walk- 
ing on  the  piazza,  and  he  knows  exactly  how  he  stands  with 
me." 

"  Right — you  are  my  own  brave  girl.  But  Pauline.  O,  it 
breaks  my  heart  to  see  her  suffering  thus." 

The  sound  of  her  own  name,  seemed  to  arouse  the  suffer- 
ering  girl  from  the  stupor  into  which  she  had  fallen.  She 
suddenly  unclosed  her  wild  eyes,  and  seeing  her  father  beside 
her,  she  became  for  a  few  moments  conscious  of  his  identity. 
She  moaned, 

"  You  will  not  let  him  take  my  sister  from  me.  She  is  all 
to  me  now :  that  evil  man  would  torture  us  both,  by  tearing 
us  asunder  forever.  Adele  must  not  take  my  place  beside 
him :  Oh !  I  should  hate  her  then,  sinful  as  it  would  be." 

"  My  precious  darling,  only  be  calm,  and  all  shall  be  well 
with  you,"  said  Mr.  Harrington,  soothingly.  "  No  one  shall 
do  any  thing  to  render  you  unhappy." 

"Nothing  can   now  be   done   to   crush   me   into   deeper 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      241 

misery,"  was  the  dejected  reply,  and  she  again  closed  her 
eyes,  and  turned  her  head  to  conceal  the  tears  that  gushed 
from  them. 

"  0,  Adele,  Adele,  this  ruin  is  harder  to  bear,  than  loss 
of  fortune,"  exclaimed  the  affectionate  father,  as  he  wiped 
away  the  drops  wrung  from  his  eyes  by  the  picture  of  deso- 
lation before  him. 

"  Fortune — fortune,"  muttered  the  sick  girl.  "  Who  cares 
for  fortune  ?  There  is  but  one  dower  worth  possessing  to  a 
woman,  and  that  is  beauty." 

"  Yet  it  has  been  a  fatal  possession  to  many,  dear  sister," 
said  Adele  softly. 

"  Not  half  so  fatal  as  the  want  of  it  is  to  thousands.  O, 
Uike  your  fair  face  away,  lest  my  reft  heart  become  jealous 
of  its  charms.  Then  I  should  hate  myself  indeed." 

Miss  Harrington  passed  before  Adele  and  gently  put  her 
aside. 

"  Let  me  attend  to  Pauline,  my  love,  while  you  seek  rest, 
for  you  look  perfectly  worn  out.  Dr.  Germain  will  soon  be 
here  now,  and  in  the  meantime  she  needs  quiet  more  than 
any  thing  else." 

"  Quiet,"  thought  Pauline,  bitterly.  "  If  you  could  only 
behold  the  tumult  seething  in  my  heart  and  brain,  you  would 
never  use  such  a  mocking  word.  I  believe  I  shall  die  or  lose 
my  reason,  and  I  do  not  much  care  which,  for  I  am  reckless 
in  my  misery;"  and  again  the  feverish  rush  of  anguish 
brought  back  the  delirium,  which  had  partially  subsided. 

On  his  arrival,  Dr.  Germain  found  her  in  a  wild  paroxysm, 
and  he  pronounced  her  in  a  violent  fever.  From  the  rapidity 


242  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

with  which  such  diseases  rim  their  course  in  a  southern  cli- 
mate, he  felt  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost. 

Occupied  with  Pauline,  no  one  of  the  family  appeard  at 
the  morning  meal,  and  the  two  guests  breakfasted  together. 
Unconscious  of  the  cause  of  Pauline's  sudden  illness,  Evelyn 
spoke  of  it  with  concern,  and  he  was  surprised  at  the  haughty 
coldness  with  which  his  companion  listened. 

Even  the  knowledge  that  Pauline  was  suffering  from  his 
own  treachery,  did  not  at  that  crisis  cause  Malcolm  to  regret. 
He  was  too  bitterly  disappointed ;  too  resentful  himself,  to 
waste  sympathy  on  another;  and  could  he  have  found  a 
pretext  for  fastening  a  quarrel  on  the  unconscious  Philip,  he 
would  have  grasped  at  it  with  eagerness,  and  never  have  left 
the  field  until  his  own  life,  or  that  of  his  antagonist  had  paid 
the  forfeit  of  their  rivalry.  He  drank  several  cups  of  very 
strong  coffee,  and  without  tasting  food,  abruptly  arose  from 
the  table. 

Evelyn's  eye  followed  him  in  surprise,  but  he  mentally  ex- 
cused him,  by  thinking, 

"  He  is  in  love  with  Paulino,  poor  fellow,  and  her  danger 
unmans  him.  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  have  heard  this  Malcolm 
spoken  of  as  an  admirer  of  hers.  Bear  cousin,  I  trust  she 
is  not  dangerously  ill." 

At  that  instant  he  caught  sight  of  Dr.  Germain  mounting 
his  horse,  and  hurried  out  to  intercept  him.  The  physician 
looked  unusually  serious,  and  in  reply  to  his  inquiries,  said, 

"  Miss  Pauline  is  in  a  very  critical  condition,  Mr.  Evelyn. 
She  has  evidently  received  a  mental  shock  of  a  very  serious 
nature,  just  at  a  time  when  her  nervous  system  was  in  a  con- 


243 

dition  to  be  most  seriously  affected  by  it,  as  is  proved  by  the 
result." 

"  Do  you  really  tbink  her  in  danger  of  deatb  ?"  asked 
Evelyn,  in  alarm. 

"  In  most  imminent  danger ;  for  she  has  every  symptom  of 
a  violent  and  unmanageable  fever.  I  am  compelled  to  leave 
her  now,  but  I  shall  return  in  a  few  hours,  and  remain  here 
until  some  change  takes  place,  either  for  better  or  worse." 

He  bowed,  and  rode  away,  and  Philip  turned  to  encounter 
the  fixed  gaze  of  Malcolm,  who  stood  pale,  yet  composed, 
within  a  few  feet  of  him. 

"  This  is  a  sad  change  from  the  joy  of  last  evening,"  re- 
marked the  younger  man. 

Malcolm  unclosed  his  lips  as  if  to  answer,  but  the  words 
died  away  in  a  husky  murmur ;  he  turned  away  abruptly, 
and  plunged  into  the  shrubbery.  As  he  strode  on,  the  soft 
clear  eyes  of  the  sick  girl  seemed  to  be  looking  into  his  soul, 
and  the  thought  of  her  danger  again  made  his  lately  savage 
heart  thrill  to  human  sympathy.  All  the  attraction  she  had 
ever  possessed  for  him  seemed  to  revive,  and  invest  her  with 
a  tender  interest  that  for  a  season  melted  the  hardness  from 
his  nature. 

Ill,  dying  for  his  sake,  Pauline  was  an  object  of  deep 
interest  to  him,  but  he  felt  within  his  inmost  soul  the  secret 
conviction  that  should  she  be  restored  to  her  wonted  health^ 
the  supremacy  of  beauty  would  again  assert  itself  over  his 
senses,  and  Adele  be  the  only  coveted  treasure.  Adele,  who 
scorned  him,  who  despised  him,  while  the  tender  heart  of 
Pauline  adored  him. 


244 

He  had  outraged  this  love,  and  for  what  ?  Rejection  and 
contempt.  Should  the  suffering  one  perish  she  would  be  as 
surely  his  victim  as  if  the  dagger  or  poison  had  consum- 
mated his  crime,  and  an  impassable  gulf  would  thus  arise 
between  himself  and  the  real  object  of  his  pursuit. 

Should  such  be  the  fatal  result,  he  would  relinquish  all 
claims  on  Mr.  Harrington's  estate,  and  endeavor  thus  to 
atone  for  his  crime ;  for  criminal  he  now  felt  his  conduct  to 
have  been.  Should  she  recover,  his  path  lay  broad  before 
him.  Adele  should  be  forced  into  becoming  his  wife,  or 
ruin  be  brought  upon  her  father. 

While  he  thus  mused,  he  was  unconscious  of  footsteps 
tracking  him  with  hurried  and  uneven  tread,  until  the  voice 
of  Mr.  Harrington  sounded  in  his  ears,  and  at  the  command 
of  that  gentleman  he  paused  in  his  rapid  career. 

With  a  feeling  of  strong  reluctance,  he  turned  to  meet  the 
outraged  father.  Mr.  Harrington  held  in  his  hand  the  letter 
which  Adele  had  recently  given  him,  and  he  presented  it  t« 
Malcolm  with  the  brief  remark, 

"  This  is  a  production  of  yours,  I  believe,  sir  ?" 

Malcolm's  self-possession  did  not  desert  him ;  he  glanced 
coldly  on  it,  and  replied, 

"  It  is,  Mr.  Harrington ;  and  since  your  daughter  has  sub- 
mitted it  to  you,  I  presume  she  has  also  sufficiently  explained 
our  relative  position  toward  each  other." 

"  She  has — -and  I  have  followed  you  to  return  your  insult- 
ing declaration  of  love  to  one  whom  I  wish  you  distinctly  to 
understand  is,  under  «yiy  circumstances,  quite  beyond  your 
reach." 


245 

Malcolm  compressed  his  lips  to  keep  back  the  angry  words 
that  rushed  to  them.  With  forced  composure,  he  said, 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  well,  Mr.  Harrington,  for  you  to 
reconsider  your  words.  Where  so  much  is  at  stake,  the 
caprices  of  a  young  lady  should  not  be  allowed  too  much 
weight." 

"  I  comprehend  the  veiled  threat  in  your  words,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Harrington,  with  dignity.  "I  now  understand  all  your 
manoeuvres  to  place  me  as  much  at  your  mercy  as  you  think 
I  am ;  but  I  trust  in  God,  and  better  friends  than  you  have 
proved  yourself,  to  rescue  me  from  your  power.  But  should 
the  worst  happen  to  me,  know  that  I  would  sooner  endure 
ruin  in  its  most  aggravated  form,  than  barter  my  child  to 
such  a  man  as  I  now  comprehend  you  to  be,  to  save  myself." 

Malcolm's  face  was  inscrutable ;  he  said, 

"  Very  well,  sir.  You  possess  at  least  the  merit  of  frank- 
ness ;  whether  it  is  prudent  to  use  it  toward  one  situated  as  I 
am  with  you,  is  for  you  to  determine.  It  seems  to  me,  that 
a  painful  misconception  has  placed  me  in  a  false  position 
toward  your  whole  family." 

"  Misconception  !"  repeated  the  father,  indignantly ;  but  he 
checked  himself,  and  added, 

"Mr.  Malcolm,  there  are  some  things  that  do  not  admit  of 
discussion ;  of  such,  is  your  anomalous  position  toward  my 
family.  If  the  feelings  involved  were  of  a  less  delicate 
nature,  you  may  truly  believe  that  I  should  not  attempt  to 
practice  my  present  self-control.  You  have  to  deal  with  a 
gentleman,  and  a  man  of  honor ;  therefore,  you  escape  un- 
whipped  of  that  justice  you  so  justly  merit." 


246 

Malcolm's  face  darkened  as  he  listened, 

"  And  after  all  I  have  done  to  serve  you,  this  is  my  re- 
ward ?" 

"Appeal  not  to  your  services,  when  you  know  with  what 
motive  they  were  rendered.  I  have  implicitly  trusted  you, 
for,  until  this  unhappy  morning,  not  a  doubt  of  you  entered 
niy  mind.  Now  you  stand  unmasked  before  me,  and  bitterly 
painful  is  the  revelation ;  not  so  much  on  the  score  of  in- 
terest, as  you  may  suppose,  but  because  one  I  esteemed  has 
fallen  so  utterly  low  in  my  regard." 

Malcolm  smiled  disdainfully.     He  said, 

"  All  men  pursue  their  individual  interest.  I  have  simply 
done  that  which  I  supposed  would  further  the  wish  that  lies 
nearest  my  heart." 

u  And  in  thus  acting,  destroyed  every  hope  of  success." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  Those  who  have  never  felt  the 
actual  pressure  of  difficulty  and  narrow  means  know  not 
what  lessons  of  worldly  prudence  they  may  learn  from  them. 
I  refuse  to  receive  your  final  reply,  or  that  of  your  daughter, 
until  six  months  shall  have  rolled  away.  At  that  time,  you 
will  both  probably  better  comprehend  our  actual  relations 
toward  each  other  than  you  now  do." 

Mr.  Harrington's  face  flushed,  for  his  temper  was  rap- 
idly getting  the  better  of  the  self-control  he  had  painfully 
imposed  on  himself  from  the  commencement  of  this  in- 
terview. 

"  You  wish  to  take  time  to  consummate  the  ruin  you  believe 
to  be  in  your  power.  I  grant  you  six  months,  but  before 
they  are  passed,  I  will  find  means  to  rescue  my  property  from 


THK  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      247 

your  claims,  or  forfeit  it  utterly.  But  even  in  that  extreme 
case,  my  answer  will  still  be  the  same.  I,  and  those  belong- 
ing to  me,  will  know  how  to  bear  honorable  poverty,  better 
than  the  slavery  of  enforced  submission  to  such  a  man  as  I 
now  know  you  to  be.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Malcolm.  The 
hospitality  of  Wavertree  is  open  to  you  as  long  as  you  choose 
to  remain  beneath  its  roof,  but  the  master  of  the  mansion  you 
will  excuse,  as  his  mind  is  not  in  a  condition  to  entertain 
visitors." 

He  bowed,  and  Malcolm  also  ceremoniously  raised  his  hat. 
He  said, 

"  I  shall  leave  on  the  first  boat  that  passes.  Pray  remem- 
ber, sir,  that  this  conversation  will  be  forgotten  when  the  day 
of  reconciliation  arrives." 

"  Remember  it  until  that  day,"  said  Mr.  Harrington,  point- 
edly, as  he  moved  away  with  rapid  steps. 

Malcolm  slowly  followed  him  in  the  direction  of  the  house, 
intending  to  order  his  servant  to  be  in  readiness  for  the  first 
steamer  that  came  down  the  river.  In  the  meantime  he 
brooded  qyer  his  plans. 

He  would  delay  his  great  blow,  until  the  result  of  Pauline's 
illness  was  ascertained.  Should  the  anguish  he  had  inflicted 
not  prove  fatal,  he  would  proceed  to  crush  the  fortunes  of  her 
family ;  not  in  his  own  person,  however — that  would  bring 
too  much  odium  upon  him — but  through  the  agency  of  one 
whose  unscrupulous  services  he  knew  he  could  command,  who 
would  be  ruthless  as  Fate  itself  in  his  demands. 

In  spite  of  the  high  tone  assumed  by  Mr.  Harrington  in 
their  recent  interview,  he  fully  believed  that  he  could  call  on 


248  THB   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

no  friend  who  would  come  to  his  rescue  in  the  present  crisis 
of  his  affairs.  He  had  made  himself  fully  acquainted  with 
his  resources  and  their  availability,  and  he  knew  of  no 
source  from  which  he  could  raise  so  large  a  sum  as  was 
necessary  to  release  his  property  from  the  mortgage  he 
held  upon  it. 

Within  the  next  hour,  Malcolm  left  Wavertree  without 
bidding  adieu  to  any  of  the  family ;  and  as  the  steamer  swept 
down  the  rapid  stream,  he  looked  back  at  the  house  filled 
with  suffering  by  himself,  and  calculated  how  long  it  might 
be  before  he  could  enter  as  master,  carrying  with  him  the 
fiat  which  would  bid  the  shrinking  object  of  his  pursuit 
crush  down  her  swelling  heart,  and  force  back  her  tears, 
while  she  feigned  a  smiling  welcome  to  the  arbiter  of  her 
fate. 

Tffe  interview  with  Mr.  Harrington  had  only  hardened  his 
purpose,  and  the  momentaiy  softness  inspired  by  the  knowl- 
edge of  Pauline's  danger,  passed  away,  leaving  that  heart  of 
steel  and  will  of  adamant,  to  their  own  devices. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

DAYS  of  unconscious  suffering  to  the  helpless  Pauline  rolled 
away,  and  heavy  hearts  watched  beside  her;  for  her  physician 
gave  scarcely  a  gleam  of  hope  that  she  would  be  restored  to 
those  who  so  fondly  loved  her. 

Dark  and  gloomy  weather  followed  the  beautiful  days  we 
have  lately  described ;  no  ray  of  sunshine  had  power  to 
penetrate  the  heavy  mist  which  hung  in  white  wreaths  over 
the  lowland,  often  shrouding  the  surface  of  the  river  entirely 
from  view. 

In  the  evening  twilight  of  such  a  day,  dashes  of  rain  were 
swept  against  the  casement,  and  the  wind  wailed  in  fitful 
gusts  around  the  house.  The  sick  girl  lay  white  and  motion- 
less upon  her  pillow,  unconscious  of  the  strife  of  the  elements 
without;  while  Miss  Harrington  and  Adele  sat  beside  a  bright 
wood  fire  which  sent  its  ruby  glow  throughout  the  apartment, 
and  conversed  in  guarded  tones.  They  spoke  of  Pauline,  and 
her  aunt  said, 

"  I  always  thought  the  dear  child  possessed  remarkable 
strength  of  character.  I  never  could  have  believed  that  she 
would  linve  sunk  beneath  such  a  blow  as  this." 

"Ah,  dear  aunt,  is  it  not  generally  the  strong  in  soul  that 
have  the  greatest  tenderness  of  feeling  ?  Think  how  often 


250 

my  sister  lias  been  wooed,  nnd  how  great  must  have  been  the 
attraction  to  which  she  <it  last  yielded  her  heart.  Great  was 
the  trust,  boundless  the  love  she  must  have  bestowed  on  this 
man." 

Miss  Harrington  sighed,  and  seemed  absorbed  in  musing. 
At  length  she  said,  more  as  if  speaking  to  herself  than  to 
her  niece, 

"Even  should  Pauline  be  spared  to  us,  she  will  never 
marry  now.  I  understand  her  heart  by  my — " 

She  paused  abruptly,  shaded  her  face  with  her  hand,  and 
remained  silent,  for  her  thoughts  were  traveling  far  back  over 
the  long  track  of  years,  to  that  turbulent  period  in  the  his- 
tory of  her  own  heart,  when  the  voice  of  love  spoke  loudly 
in  favor  of  one  her  principles  revolted  from  uniting  her  fate 
with.  She  firmly  believed  she  had  acted  for  the  best,  and  no 
sentimental  sorrow  had  dimmed  the  path  she  had  since  trod- 
den. She  trusted  that  Pauline  would  yet  arise  from  her 
couch  of  suffering,  strong  to  meet  the  future,  and  in  time,  be 
able  to  say  to  her  throbbing  heart, 

"  Be  at  peace.  This  sorrow  came  from  Him  who  doeth  all 
things  well,  and  I  can  bear  it  with  resignation.  It  is  better 
even  thus,  than  united  to  one  in  whose  honor  and  affection  I 
have  not  implicit  faith." 

Adele  had  risen,  and  was  standing  beside  the  bed,  gazing 
down  upon  the  wasted  features  of  her  sister.  She  took  her 
nerveless  hand  in  her  own,  and  endeavored  to  impart  a  feel- 
ing of  vitality  to  it  by  rubbing  it  gently.  Presently  she  felt 
a  slight  pressure  in  the  fingers,  and  connected  words  issued 
from  the  lips  which  had  so  long  unclosed  to  utter  only  the 


THK  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  251 

ravings  of  delirium.  She  bent  down  to  hear  the  feeble  whis- 
per, and  Pauline  asked, 

"Where  is  my  father?  How  has  he  borne  so  much  sor- 
row ?" 

"  He  is  well — he  has  hoped  for  your  restoration,  and  that 
has  kept  him  up.  0  my  dearest  sister,  how  glad  it  makes 
my  heart,  to  hear  you  speak  thus  once  more." 

"  I  have  been  very  ill,  I  know.    How  long  have  I  lain  thus  ?" 

"  This  is  the  ninth  day  we  have  watched  over  you." 

"  This,  then,  is  the  crisis.  The  dying  often  have  intervals 
of  reason  before  the  great  Conqueror  comes.  Such,  I  believe, 
is  my  condition  now.  Call  my  father,  that  I  may  see  him 
once  more." 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  Miss  Gertrude  had  drawn  near. 
She  now  said, 

"  Call  my  brother,  by  all  means,  Adele,  but  it  is  to  see  how 
much  better  our  dear  invalid  is.  You  are  greatly  improved, 
my  darling — your  pulse  is  stronger,  and  you  have  no  fever. 
Hope  for  yourself,  and  all  will  be  well  with  you." 

"  All  would  indeed  be  well,  aunt,  if  Heaven  in  its 
mercy,  would  claim  me  for  its  own.  0, 1  shrink  from  life 
with  its  great  burden  of  sorrow  and  care.  Let  me  go  to  the 
better  land,  where  treachery  never  more  may  wound ;  where 
hope  will  sing  no  falsehoods  to  the  heart." 

"  And  leave  those  who  love  you  to  grieve  forever  over  the 
loss  of  their  precious  child  ?  Life  is  worth  a  struggle,  Pau- 
line— the  heart  will  rebound,  and  yet  sing  its  glad  hymn  ot 
gratitude  to  Him  who  granted  the  prayers  of  those  who  hava 
watched  over  you,  and  gave  you  back  to  them." 


252  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGZIER. 

"  I  am  faint  and  weak,  dear  aunt ;  and  I  scarcely  know 
what  I  should  desire ;  but  I  think  I  shall  die.  I  shall  grieve 
that  you  must  mourn  for  me,  but  O !  I  wish  so  much  to 
go!" 

Dr.  Germain  was  in  the  house,  watching  for  this  crisis,  and 
he  came  softly  into  the  room,  followed  by  Mr.  Harrington. 
The  physician  came  to  the  bedside,  and  she  smiled  faintly  as 
she  recognized  him. 

"  You  see,  doctor,  all  your  skill  has  failed  you  here.  My 
spirit  only  tarries  to  bid  farewell  to  the  loved  of  earth,  before 
it  wings  its  way  to  the  eternal  morning." 

"  Not  so,  my  dear  young  lady ;  earth  will  not  so  readily 
relinquish  its  hold  upon  you.  I  am  surprised  at  the  symp- 
toms of  amendment  I  see  in  you.  Your  eyes  are  clearer,  and 
vour  voice  grows  stronger  with  eveiy  word  you  utter." 

"  That  is  only  the  last  effort,  doctor.  When  this  excite- 
ment passes  away,  my  life  will  pass  with  it." 

"  We  will  endeavor  to  assist  nature,  Miss  Pauline,  and  you 
will  yet  live  to  say  that  skill  may  sometimes  set  the  grim 
Conqueror  at  defiance.  Take  these  drops,  and  when  you 
recover  from  their  effects  you  will  feel  like  a  new  creature." 

"Yes — I  shall  indeed  be  renewed  in  the  blood  of  Him 
who  died  that  man  might  live  throughout  all  the  ages  of 
eternity,  to  glorify  his  holy  name." 

Her  father  raised  her  head,  and  she  quaffed  the  contents 
of  the  cup  the  physician  offered,  and  then  sunk  back  upon 
his  breast  quite  exhausted ;  Mr.  Harrington  tremulously  said, 
as  he  bent  fondly  over  her, 

"  My  child,  my  darling,  look  up  to  me ;  feel  how  I  clasp 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  253 

you  to  my  heart,  as  if  even  Fate  itself  shall  not  sever  us,  and 
endeavor  to  live  for  my  sake." 

After  a  pause,  as  if  gathering  strength  to  speak,  she  faintly 
said, 

"  I  hear  and  comprehend  you,  father.  Until  now  I  shrank 
from  the  struggle  life  brings  with  it ;  but  with  your  tender 
arms  around  me,  I  feel  that  I  could  willingly  win  my  way 
back  to  life,  should  such  be  the  will  of  Heaven.  But  my 
doom  is  written,  and  I  may  not  avoid  it.  You  will  not  be 
desolate — my  sister — Victor  remain  to  you.  Ah,  where  is 
my  brother,  at  this  crisis  ?  I  see  him  not  among  you." 

"  I  look  for  him ;  he  will  be  here  before  many  hours  elapse," 
replied  her  father,  in  a  troubled  tone,  for  Victor's  conduct  was 
inexplicable  to  him. 

At  the  commencement  of  Pauline's  illness,  Victor  had  been 
summoned  home,  in  anticipation  of  a  fatal  termination  of  it ; 
but  no  answer  came  in  reply  to  the  letter.  A  second  one  was 
then  addressed  to  his  employers,  requesting  some  information 
of  him,  and,  in  reply,  they  stated  that  the  young  man  had  ab- 
sented himself  from  their  counting-house  for  many  days,  and 
they  had  no  clew  to  his  whereabouts. 

But  for  the  imminent  danger  in  which  Pauline  lay,  Mr. 
Harrington  would  at  once  have  set  out  to  New  Orleans 
in  search  of  him,  but,  for  the  present,  that  precluded  every 
other  interest ;  and  in  a  state  of  great  uneasiness  he  watched 
from  hour  to  hour  for  the  appearance  of  his  truant  son  at 
Wavertree. 

Victor  came  not,  neither  did  they  hear  from  him,  and 
Adele  saw,  with  deep  concern,  from  day  to  day,  that  these 


254  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

double  sources  of  uuhappiness  imprinted  new  furrows  on  hei 
father's  face,  and  seemed  to  give  a  more  silvery  hue  to  his 
already  whitened  hair. 

"  Where  is  Cousin  Philip  ?"  asked  Pauline,  glancing  over 
the  assembled  group,  and  missing  him  from  it. 

"  He  is  at  the  door,  my  love,  and  will  gladly  come  in,  if 
you  will  permit  him." 

"  By  all  means :  call  him,  aunt." 

Evelyn  obeyed  the  summons,  and  smiling  feebly  on  him, 
Pauline  said, 

"  You  read  so  beautifully,  cousin,  that  I  wish  you  to  read 
to  me  the  prayers  for  the  dying.  It  would  too  severely  task 
the  feelings  of  my  poor  Adele,  to  ask  this  service  of  her." 

Evelyn  looked  toward  Dr.  Germain,  and  he  whispered, 

"It  is  best  to  humor  her  fancy.  All  hope  is  not  lost, 
though  it  is  not  safe  to  refuse  any  thing  she  wishes." 

Philip  took  the  prayer  book  which  Adele  silently  offered, 
and,  with  reverence  and  feeling,  performed  the  required  ser- 
vice, while  the  rest  of  the  group  responded.  The  lips  of  the 
sick  girl  moved,  but  no  sound  issued  from  them.  When  he 
finished  she  said, 

"Thank  you — and  now,  Cousin  Philip,  receive  my  last 
adieu,  with  my  earnest  injunction  to  watch  over  and  console 
those  who  are  dear  to  me.  Remain  with  my  father,  and  be- 
come to  him  as  a  son." 

"If  I  can  serve  him  in  any  manner,  dear  Pauline,  rest 
assured  that  I  will  cling  to  his  side  as  long  as  he  wishes  it." 

"  Thank  you — I  can  not  ask  for  more.  Time  will  show 
how  great  will  be  your  reward.  My  sister,  iny  kind  aunt, 


255 

cherish  me  in  your  hearts,  but  do  not  mourn  for  the  happy 
one  who  has  thus  early  escaped  the  burden  of  mortality  to 
live  in  that  higher  sphere  in  which  my  mother  will  joyfully 
welcome  her  child.  Dearest  father,  let  that  thought  console 
you  for  the  loss  of  your  Pauline." 

Mr.  Harrington  only  replied  by  clasping  her  more  closely 
to  his  heart,  and  casting  on  Dr.  Germain  a  troubled  look  of 
inquiry.  He  replied  to  it  in  a  faint  whisper, 

"  She  can  not  bear  contradiction.  Sleep  approaches  gradu- 
ally. She  may  die  in  it,  or  she  may  awake  to  renewed  life. 
I  have  done  all  that  human  skill  can  accomplish,  and  we 
must  leave  the  result  to  God." 

The  father  bowed  his  head  in  submission,  and  fixed  his 
gaze  upon  the  pallid  features  resting  upon  his  breast.  As  she 
seemed  about  to  sink  into  slumber,  she  unclosed  her  heavy 
eyes  and  murmured, 

"  Tell  him  that,  with  my  last  breath,  I  forgave  him ;  that  I 
died  at  peace  with  all  the  world." 

The  eye-lids  drooped  over  the  weary  eyes,  and,  save'  that  a 
faint  pulsation  of  the  heart  indicated  that  life  still  lingered, 
Pauline  lay  to  all  appearance  dead.  Almost  afraid  to  breathe, 
Mr.  Harrington  held  her  in  his  arms,  and  watched  her  with 
an  intensity  of  interest  no  words  can  portray.  In  spirit  he 
seemed  to  behold  the  silent  struggle  between  the  principle  of 
life  and  that  mysterious  thing  called  death ;  and  how  fer- 
vently he  prayed,  how  reverently  he  asked  help  for  his 
stricken  one,  that  she  might  again  be  restored  to  him,  was 
known  only  to  himself  and  that  omnipotent  One  to  whom  the 

deepest  emotions  of  the  soul  are  laid  bare. 
17 


256 


The  remainder  of  the  group  sat  motionless,  watching  the 
mournful  tableau  made  by  the  father  and  daughter,  and  afraid 
to  move  lest  the  spell  that  seemed  to  be  upon  them,  should  be 
broken  by  the  approach  of  death. 

Hours  that  seemed  ages,  passed  away  in  this  terrible 
watch,  and  the  physician  was  the  only  one  who  had  ventured 
to  leave  his  place.  He  had  at  intervals,  held  his  watch  over 
the  lips  of  Pauline  to  ascertain  if  breath  still  issued  from 
them.  The  faint  dimness  that  appeared  each  time  upon  its 
polished  crystal,  gave  assurance  that  life  yet  lingered,  but 
that  was  all. 

Mr.  Harrington  sat  as  motionless  as  if  carved  from  stone, 
fearful  that  the  slightest  movement  would  break  this  sleep  on 
which  so  much  depended.  This  long  continued  suspense 
had  become  almost  agonizing,  when  suddenly  the  deep  still- 
ness was  broken  by  the  sound  of  an  eager  footstep  which 
came  through  the  house  with  reckless  speed. 

Each  one  recognized  the  step  of  Victor,  but  before  any 
one  could  rise  to  meet  him  he  was  in  the  room.  A  faint 
murmur  of  surprise  greeted  him  as  he  paused  in  the  door- 
way, and  surveyed  the  scene  within.  He  looked  as  if  he  had 
recently  suffered  from  severe  illness  himselfj  for  he  was  pale 
and  wan,  and  his  dress  was  in  a  state  of  remarkable  disorder 
to  be  worn  by  so  finished  an  exquisite  as  young  Harrington. 

With  a  hasty  gesture  toward  those  who  sat  near  the  fire, 
he  approached  the  bed  and  silently  looked  upon  the  scarcely 
breathing  form  his  father  sustained  in  his  arms,  while  the 
working  of  his  features  seemed  to  say, 

"  Would  to  God  I  could  exchange  places  with  you,  Pau- 


THB  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      257 

line,  and  bury  myself,  together  with  my  faults,  in  the  grave 
which  seems  yawning  for  you." 

His  earnest  gaze  seemed  to  possess  some  magnetic  influ- 
ence on  the  sick  girl,  for  she  moved  slightly,  and  presently 
unclosed  her  eyes.  Intelligence  was  in  their  glance,  and 
after  a  brief  pause,  as  if  collecting  her  thoughts,  she  softly 
said, 

« I  live — for  the  loved  of  earth  are  yet  around  me.     Vic- 
tor, my  brother,  welcome  among  us  once  more." 
•  She  endeavored  to  raise  her  hand,  but  had  not  the  power 
to  do  so.     Victor  touched  it  with  his  lips,  and  muttered 
hoarsely, 

"Thank  God,  you  will  not  die,  Pauline.  I  did  not  know 
of  your  danger  till  last  night,  when  I  accidentally  met  Mal- 
colm, and  he  told  me  how  ill  you  have  been.  I  hurried 
home  at  every  ri — " 

He  checked  himself  suddenly,  as  if  he  was  about  to  be- 
tray more  than  he  intended ;  and  afraid  of  the  effect  Mal- 
colm's name  thus  carelessly  uttered,  might  have  on  Pauline, 
Miss  Harrington  quickly  approached,  and  drew  him  away. 
She  only  drew  a  long  shivering  sigh,  and  requested  her  father 
to  place  her  on  the  pillows,  as  he  must  be  weary  of  the  con- 
strained position  in  which  he  had  so  long  remained. 

Mr.  Harrington  kissed  her  tenderly,  as  he  said, 

"  God  has  given  you  back  to  me,  my  darling.  You  will 
live  to  bless  me  yet." 

"  I  trust  so,  best  of  fathers,"  and  again  the  weary  eye-lida 
drooped,  and  she  slumbered  serenely.  Dr.  Germain  prepared 
some  drops  for  her  when  she  again  awoke,  and  insisted  that 


258 

every  one  should  retire  for  the  night;  except  Miss  Gertrude, 
who  would  remain  to  watch  beside  her  niece. 

Exhausted  hy  previous  fatigue,  Adele  consented  to  seek 
repose  on  a  lounge  which  was  drawn  near  the  fire ;  but  she 
would  by  no  means  agree  to  leave  the  room  while  her  sister's 
life  hung  on  so  precarious  a  thread. 

Worn  out  as  Mr.  Harrington  was  by  the  varied  emotions 
he  had  passed  through  during  the  evening,  he  felt  the  impos- 
sibility of  sleeping  before  ascertaining  from  Victor  the  his- 
tory of  the  few  past  weeks  of  his  life.  There  was  much  that 
was  painful  to  hear  he  well  knew,  even  before  seeing  him,  for 
the  impress  of  suffering  upon  his  son's  features,  had  told  its 
own  tale  of  reckless  misery  to  the  father's  yearning  heart. 

Mr.  Harrington  found  Victor  in  the  usual  sitting-room  of 
the  family,  cowering  over  a  few  embers  left  from  the  neg- 
lected fire  of  the  previous  day.  He  placed  the  light  he 
carried,  on  a  table,  so  as  to  throw  its  glare  on  the  wasted 
features  of  the  young  man,  and  seated  himself  opposite  to 
him  in  silence. 

Victor  eyed  him  half  sullenly  at  first,  but  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  father's  face  that  gradually  melted  the  feeling  of 
rebellious  obstinacy  which  had  lately  ruled  his  heart.  He 
felt  that  compassion  for  himself  was  in  the  gaze  bent  on  him, 
and  not  that  spirit  of  questioning  accusation  he  had  expected 
to  meet.  He  also  saw  how  much  his  father  had  suffered  of 
late,  for  old  age  seemed  to  have  made  rapid  inroads  on  the 
features  which,  a  few  months  since,  were  bright  with  health 
and  happiness. 

"  Have  you  been  ill,  father  ?"  he  asked. 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      259 

"  Only  in  rnind,  my  son.  You  know  how  I  have  suffered 
on  Pauline's  account ;  and  added  to  that,  was  my  uncertainty 
concerning  you.  Where  have  you  been  during  these  dark 
days,  Victor,  while  my  heart  was  torn  with  anxiety  for  you?" 

uWait  until  to-morrow,  father,  and  I  will  tell  you  all. 
To-night  you  need  rest — and  the  tale  I  have  to  tell  will 
hardly  promote  slumber,"  he  bitterly  replied. 

"  I  can  not  sleep  until  I  have  heard  it,  Victor.     Let  me 
know  the  worst  at  once ;  speak  the  whole  truth,  my  son,  as  if 
you  were  laying  bare  your  heart  before  Heaven,  for  I  prom 
ise  you  not  to  judge  you  harshly." 

Victor  walked  the  floor  hurriedly  to  and  fro,  and  a  strug- 
gle was  evidently  going  on  within  him.  He  seemed  endeav- 
oring to  summon  courage  to  obey  his  father ;  at  length  he 
paused  before  him,  and  said, 

"  I  am  indeed  the  returned  prodigal,  father ;  and  I  bring 
not  alone  myself  and  my  evil  nature  back  to  the  parental  roof, 
but  a  list  of  responsibilities  I  know  you  are  unable  to  meet." 

"  How  have  they  been  incurred,  Victor  ?"  asked  the  father, 
steadily. 

"  I  might  deceive  you,  sir ;  but  I  came  home  with  the  pur- 
pose of  telling  all,  and  I  will  not  shrink  from  the  ordeal. 
They  are  gambling  debts." 

"  I  feared  as  much.  And  what  says  your  aunt  ?  What 
will  Louise  say  to  such  a  course  ?" 

An  expression  of  passionate  anger  came  up  on  his  face. 

"  My  aunt !  I  could  curse  that  hard  woman,  did  not  respect 
for  you  withhold  me,  sir.  As  to  Louise,  I  am  certain  she 
will  never  consent  to  marry  a  man  who  is  not  rich,  and  it 


260      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

was  tliis  belief  that  sent  me  to  tlie  gaming  table,  in  the  mad 
hope  of  forcing  Fortune  to  become  my  friend." 

"  Sit  down,  Victor,  and  tell  me  your  story  in  a  connected 
manner.  I  wish  to  comprehend  all  the  temptations  you  have 
had  to  struggle  with." 

The  calm  manner  of  his  father  exerted  a  constraint  over 
Victor  that  he  could  not  evade.  He  sat  down  opposite  to 
Mr.  Harrington,  and  commenced, 

"When  I  left  Wavertree  for  New  Orleans,  I  was  deeply  in 
debt,  but  I  would  not  tell  you  at  that  crisis,  because  I  knew 
your  own  financial  difficulties  were  then  bearing  heavily  upon 
you.  I  hoped  to  be  able  to  extricate  myself  gradually  by 
the  same  means  that  had  involved  me.  Like  a  thousand 
pther  fools,  I  imagined  that  my  losses  had  taught  me  wis- 
dom, and  I  could,  in  my  turn,  break  the  bank  in  the  saloon 
where  I  had  lost  so  much.  My  aunt  showed  me  unequivo- 
cally that  unless  I  possessed  money  I  should  never  gain  Lou- 
ise ;  and  she,  too,  flirted  before  my  face  with  a  man  whose 
only  recommendation  in  her  e3res,  is  the  possession  of  wealth. 
Day  by  day,  I  grew  more  reckless,  and  more  resolute  to  risk 
every  thing  to  gain  what  I  had  lost.  The  little  employment 
given  me  at  Messrs.  Hall,  afforded  me  the  leisure  to  devote 
the  greater  portion  of  my  time  to  the  pursuit  which  so  deeply 
fascinated  me ;  at  first,  I  won  so  largely  that  I  paid  off  all 
the  debts  of  honor  which  had  given  me  so  much  uneasiness. 
All !  if  I  had  only  stopped  there  !  but  the  delusive  hope  of 
continued  good  fortune  led  me  on.  I  knew  my  aunt  was 
not  the  kind  of  woman  to  be  scrupulous  about  the  method 
by  which  money  was  gained,  provided  a  man  possessed  it ; 


261 

and  I  rushed  more  madly  than  ever  into  the  excitement  of 
gambling.  I  made  Louise  magnificent  presents,  and  again 
she  smiled  on  me  more  encouragingly  than  on  Nevin.  In 
short,  I  went  on  with  various  alternations  of  fortune,  until 
about  a  week  since,  when  I  resolved  at  one  blow  to  know 
what  my  fate  was  to  be.  I  risked  every  thing  I  possessed, 
and  many  thousands  more  ;  that  I  am  here,  and  thus,  shows 
you  the  result." 

"  Where  have  you  been  since  you  left  the  employment  of 
Messrs.  Hall  ?"  asked  Mr.  Harrington. 

"In  h — 11,"  responded  Victor,  impetuously,  "for  those  in- 
famous gambling  saloons  have  been  well  named  thus.  I 
have  played  until  I  was  nearly  maddened,  but  the  fates 
were  ever  against  me.  A  gleam  of  good  fortune  was  in- 
variably followed  by  greater  losses  than  my  previous  gains 
would  cover." 

"  What  finally  tore  you  from  this  infatuation,  Victor  ?" 

"One  night,  when  I  was  nearly  frenzied  with  my  ill  luck, 
Malcolm  came  into  the  room,  and  seemed  surprised  to  see  me 
there.  He  spoke  to  me,  and  asked  me  if  I  knew  that  Paul- 
ine's life  was  despaired  of  ?  I  had  not  lately  inquired  for 
letters  from  home,  for  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  those  who 
expected  me  to  act  so  differently  from  the  course  I  was  pur- 
suing. 

44 1  had  just  lost  the  last  stake  my  credit  enabled  me  to 
raise,  and  I  left  the  house  bankrupt  in  every  thing  ;  for  I  had 
lost  more  than  I  was  ever  likely  to  possess  the  means  of  pay- 
ing. I  got  on  the  first  boat  that  left  New  Orleans,  and  came 
home." 


262 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  you  are  once  more  safe  beneath  my  own 
roof-tree,"  said  Mr.  Harrington,  fervently.  "And  now  tell  me, 
my  son,  what  is  the  amount  of  your  debts  ?" 

Victor  shrank  from  naming  the  sum,  but  his  father's  eye 
enforced  his  demand  in  a  manner  inexplicable  to  himself.  He 
said, 

"  I  arose  from  the  table  fifteen  thousand  dollars  in  debt." 

This  far  exceeded  his  father's  utmost  estimate,  but  he  felt 
that  this  was  no  time  to  reproach  him  with  his  cruel 
want  of  principle.  Harshness  now  might  plunge  him  down 
the  precipice  on  the  brink  of  which  he  trembled.  He  sighed 
heavily,  as  he  said, 

"  You  have  suffered  enough,  Victor,  to  show  you  all  the 
error  of  your  ways,  if  you  will  only  lay  the  lesson  to  heart. 
I  trust  the  remorse  you  must  now  feel  will  complete  the  re- 
formation of  which  your  return  home  would  indicate  the 
commencement.  Sleep  in  peace,  my  son,  for  you  sadly  need 
rest.  To-morrow  we  will  discuss  the  means  of  extricating 
you  from  the  sea  of  debt  into  which  you  have  so  unhappily 
plunged." 

"  Will  you  indeed  do  this  ?"  exclaimed  the  unhappy 
young  man.  "Then  all  for  me  is  not  lost.  But  I 
thought  you  could  not  aid  me :  that  your  own  embarrass- 
ments are  too  great  to  give  you  the  power  to  bestow  any 
assistance  on  me." 

"We  will  talk  of  that  to-morrow,  Victor,"  replied  his 
father,  evasively.  "  It  is  now  past  midnight ;  let  us  both 
seek  that  rest  which  we  so  greatly  need." 

Selfish  and  reckless  as  Victor  was,  he  was  touched  by  hia 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  263 

father's  forbearance  toward  him,  and  he  grasped  his  hand  in 
both  his  own,  as  he  said, 

"  I  have  no  words  to  thank  you,  dear  sir.  I  dreaded  this 
meeting  more  than  words  can  express,  but  your  goodness 
has  lifted  a  heavy  weight  from  my  heart.  Your  reproaches, 
added  to  those  of  my  own  conscience,  would  have  been  more 
thau  I  could  bear." 

"  Do  not  too  lightly  cast  the  burden  aside,  Victor,"  said 
Mr.  Harrington,  seriously ;  "  but  let  repentance  work  the 
reformation  I  so  much  desire.  Remember  that  though  my 
heart  yearns  over  you  with  inexpressible  tenderness,  that  you 
have  dealt  upon  it  the  heaviest  blow  parental  pride  and  af- 
fection can  receive.  I  would  save  you  from  ruin,  my  only 
son,  therefore  I  trampled  not  upon  the  bruised  reed  ;  but  if 
you  could  behold  the  anguish  your  conduct  is  causing  me, 
you  would  shrink  from  inflicting  such  suffering  on  your  bit- 
terest foe." 

His  voice  grew  tremulous  and  broken  as  he  uttered  these 
words,  and,  for  the  first  time,  Victor  comprehended  what 
self-control  his  father  had  imposed  on  himself  in  this  inter- 
view. He  carried  his  hand  impetuously  to  his  heart,  as  he 
exclaimed, 

"  Pardon,  pardon,  best  of  fathers,  and  I  will  endeavor  to 
become  all  you  wish.  I  will  no  longer  vacillate  between 
good  and  evil,  but  walk  in  the  path  of  rectitude  and  honor." 

"  God  grant  the  power  to  do  so,  my  dear  boy,"  solemnly 
responded  Mr.  Harrington,  "  and  I  will  earnestly  pray  that 
He  will  give  you  strength  to  conquer  the  evil  you  have  suf- 
fered to  overshadow  your  youth." 


264  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

Affected  by  his  father's  manner,  even  more  than  by  his 
•words,  Victor  bowed  reverently  before  him,  as  they  parted  to 
seek  such  rest  as  could  be  obtained  in  the  agitated  state  ol 
their  minds. 

Victor  soon  slept,  for  he  was  young  and  weary,  and  his 
light  unimpressible  nature  was  not  one  to  retain  long  any 
unpleasant  weight.  The  fear  of  his  father's  displeasure  gone, 
and  in  its  place  the  certainty  that  his  difficulties  would  be 
removed,  his  spirits  rebounded  at  once,  and  all  the  anguish 
and  debasement  of  the  few  past  weeks  of  his  life  were  thrust 
aside,  as  an  unpleasant  memory  to  be  dwelt  on  as  little  as 
possible. 

From  such  a  being,  little  could  be  hoped  in  the  future ; 
and  it  was  this  fear  which  weighed  heaviest  on  the  already 
overtasked  heart  of  the  father.  While  Victor  slept  in  peace, 
Mr.  Harrington  lay  upon  his  restless  pillow,  revolving  in  his 
own  mind  the  story  he  had  just  heard,  and  endeavoring  to 
arrange  some  plan  to  extricate  his  son  from  his  difficulties, 
without  loss  of  honor. 

How  this  was  to  be  done,  he  could  not  yet  see  ;  for,  added 
to  his  previous  embarrassments,  these  debts  seemed  like  the 
last  feather's  weight  that  was  to  crush  him  down.  Toward 
morning  he  fell  into  a  brief  and  unrefreshing  slumber,  from 
which  he  awoke  to  new  cares  and  sorrows. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

WHEN  Malcolm  reached  New  Orleans,  his  first  object  was 
to  see  a  Jewish  dealer  in  securities  with  whom  he  had  some- 
times transacted  business  through  the  intervention  of  With- 
ers. He  intended  to  place  in  this  man's  possession  the  note 
which  Mr.  Harrington  had  given  him  for  the  sum  secured  by 
a  mortgage  on  the  Wavertree  plantation.  Bondy  had  al- 
ready served  him  faithfully  in  several  instances  where  he  did 
not  wish  his  own  name  to  be  brought  forward,  in  transactions 
that  might  sully  the  fair  reputation  he  was  so  anxious  to 
maintain  among  men  of  liberal  feeling  and  unblemished 
integrity. 

Malcolm  received  constant  information  from  Wavertree 
concerning  the  condition  of  Pauline,  from  Dr.  Germain,  to 
whom,  on  his  departure,  he  had  addressed  a  note  expressed 
in  such  terms  as  to  induce  the  unsuspicious  physician  to  sup- 
pose him  warmly  interested  in  her  recovery.  Unwilling  to 
give  pain,  Dr.  Germain  had,  even  when  almost  hopeless  him- 
self, given  Malcolm  cause  to  believe  that  her  illness  would 
not  prove  fatal. 

With  this  conviction,  the  transient  softness  that  played 
about  the  heart  of  the  schemer,  while  he  believed  her  dying 
for  his  sake,  was  succeeded  by  the  stern  determination  to 


266 

make  her  father  feel  that  his  grasp  of  iron  was  on  his  for- 
tune, and  from  it  there  was  no  avenue  of  escape. 

On  the  third  evening  after  his  return  to  the  city,  he  pre- 
pared to  seek  the  Jew  :  and  with  a  strong  feeling  of  repug- 
nance, he  proceeded  to  the  same  house  in  which  the  murder 
of  the  unhappy  Withers  had  taken  place.  After  that  terri- 
ble catastrophe,  the  place  had  remained  uutenanted,  until 
Bondy,  the  former  friend  of  the  murdered  man,  applied  to 
the  owner  for  it.  He  was  glad  to  let  him  have  it  at  a  merely 
nominal  rent,  for  no  one  else  had  been  found  willing  to  reside 
in  it  on  any  terms. 

Bondy  had  been  in  possession  of  the  place  only  a  few 
weeks,  and  this  was  the  first  time  Malcolm  had  found  occa- 
sion to  visit  him  since  his  removal.  The  night  was  cold,  and 
a  slight  mist  filled  the  atmosphere  with  a  chilling  vapor,  that 
seemed  like  breathings  from  a  charnel-house  to  him  who 
hurried  along  with  his  fancy  filled  with  the  ghastly  memo- 
ries linked  with  the  place  he  was  about  to  visit. 

When  he  reached  it,  he  knocked  long  and  loudly  upon  the 
door  before  any  one  responded.  At  length  a  shuffling  step 
approached,  and  after  demanding  who  was  there  several 
times,  Bondy  recognized  the  voice  of  his  visitor,  and  admit- 
ted him. 

"  Do  you  often  freeze  your  clients  in  such  weather  as  this, 
Mr.  Bondy,  by  keeping  them  parleying  as  long  as  you  have 
talked  with  me  before  unclosing  your  inhospitable  door  ?"  he 
asked,  in  an  angry  tone. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir ;  but  you  know  this  place  has  not  the  best 
reputation,  and  it  is  always  safest  to  use  a  little  caution.  I 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  26Y 

had  no  idea  it  was  you,  sir ;  for  I  thought  you  had  gone  up 
the  river  to  visit  some  friends.  Pray  walk  in,  and  make 
yourself  wel«ome." 

While  he  thus  spoke,  the  Jew  ushered  his  visitor  into  the 
bame  room  with  which  he  was  so  familiar.  It  was  scarcely 
altered  in  its  outward  aspect ;  a  bright  coal  fire  burned  in  the 
grate,  and  a  solar  lamp  also  shed  its  cheerful  light  around. 
The  blood-stained  carpet  had  been  removed,  and  one  of  com- 
moner texture,  but  of  brilliant  hues,  substituted.  The  re- 
mainder of  the  furniture  was  the  same,  though  Malcolm 
remarked  that  not  a  single  piece  occupied  the  same  position 
as  in  former  days.  A  French  bedstead  in  one  corner  of  the 
apartment  had  been  added  to  the  accommodations,  and  the 
door  leading  into  the  adjoining  room  was  concealed  by  a  cur- 
tain. 

Malcolm  looked  around,  almost  expecting  to  see  the  dark 
face  of  Withers  start  up  before  him,  and  his  host  seemed  to 
understand  what  was  passing  in  his  mind  ;  he  said, 

"  You  're  thinking  of  the  old  days,  Mr.  Malcolm,  when 
Withers  used  to  meet  you  on  this  spot.  That  was  a  dreadful 
business,  sir — dreadful." 

"  I  do  not  know  how  you  can  bear  to  live  in  a  place  dese- 
crated by  such  a  crime,"  replied  Malcolm,  looking  curiously 
at  the  ugly  dark  face  of  the  young  Jew,  and  wondering  in 
his  own  mind  what  manner  of  man  he  could  be. 

"  You  see,  sir,  no  body  offered  to  take  the  house,  and  the 
owner  was  glad  to  let  me  have  it  almost  for  nothing,  to  keep 
it  from  from  falling  to  ruin.  I  have  a  nice  little  garden  back 
here  that  my  office-boy  keeps  in  order,  besides  raising  early 


268  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

vegetables  in  it,  which  the  keeper  of  the  restaurant  near  is 
glad  to  get  in  payment  of  the  little  I  eat." 

"  All  that  may  be  very  well,  but  are  you  never  nervous 
when  sitting  here  alone  ?  Do  you  not  often  involuntarily 
look  around,  expecting  to  see  the  spectre  of  the  murdered 
man  near  you  ?" 

"  Hush  sir,  do  not  suggest  such  fancies,"  replied  Bondy, 
with  a  repressed  shiver.  "  I  try  not  to  think  of  those  things. 
It  is  to  my  interest  to  stay  here,  and  I  have  taught  myself  to 
make  every  thing  bend  before  that." 

"  Hum — that  is  the  creed  of  your  race,  I  believe." 

The  Jew's  face  darkened.  "  Not  more  than  of  yours,  I 
think,  sir.  It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  keener  hand  at  self- 
interest  than  the  man  we  have  just  spoken  of,  and  he  was 
no  Jew." 

"  You  are  right  there,  Bondy.  Forget  that  I  spoke  thus, 
for  I  assure  you  I  have  a  very  sincere  respect  for  the  house 
of  Israel.  I  came  hither  to-night  to  trust  to  the  management 
of  one  of  its  sons  an  affair  of  delicacy  and  importance,  which 
I  am  sure  he  can  conduct  for  me  in  a  satisfactory  manner." 

Bondy  listened  eagerly.     He  said, 

"I  am  at  your  service,  Mr.  Malcolm.  Only  inform  me  of 
what  you  wish  done,  and  if  it  is  in  my  power,  it  shall  be  ac- 
complished." 

"  I  think  you  have  greatly  enlarged  your  business  of  late  ?" 
inquired  the  visitor. 

The  Jew  slightly  changed  countenance. 

"Why — yes — since  the  death  of  Withers,  I  have  fallen 
heir  to  much  of  his  business.  I  knew  many  of  his  employers, 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  269 

and  in  fact,  often  attended  to  affairs  for  him.  This  naturally 
led  to  my  stepping  as  it  were,  into  his  shoes.  In  fact,  that 
was  one  reason  for  taking-  the  old  place ;  people  had  been 
accustomed  to  come  here  for  a  real  estate  broker,  and — " 

"  There  is  no  need  of  an  enumeration  of  all  your  reasons 
for  selecting  such  an  abode,  Bondy,"  said  Malcolm,  carelessly. 
"  You  were  certainly  free  to  act  as  you  chose  in  that  matter, 
and  it  is  no  concern  of  mine.  All  I  care  about  just  at  present 
is  to  avail  myself  of  your  talent  for  business." 

"  Very  well,  sir ;  we  understand  each  other ;  so  let  us  pro- 
ceed to  business  at  once.  I  am  at  your  service." 

Malcolm  drew  forth  his  pocket-book,  and  took  from  it  sev- 
eral papers  carefully  tied  together.  He  proceeded  to  state 
to  his  eager  listener,  in  clear  and  concise  language,  the  trust 
he  wished  to  repose  in  him.  When  he  had  finished,  Bondy 
mused  a  few  momenta,  and  then  asked, 

"  Do  you  wish  to  ruin  this  man  utterly  ?" 

"  I  wish  to  make  him  feel  that  poverty  impends  over  him, 
and  will  certainly  fall  and  crush  him,  unless  I  choose  to  save 
him." 

"  Has  he  injured  you,"  asked  the  Jew,  curiously. 

"  That,  I  imagine,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  business  in 
hand,"  replied  Malcolm,  haughtily. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  indiscreet.  I  must  then  pro- 
ceed to  foreclose  this  mortgage  without  delay." 

"  You  may  save  appearances,  by  giving  him  notice  that  in 
two  weeks  you  will  proceed  according  to  law.  I  am  certain 
that  he  can  not  raise  the  money  to  pay  you  in  that  time. 
You  may  almost  make  your  fortune  out  of  this  job,  Bondy ; 


270  THE  PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

for  I  do  not  care  so  much  for  the  money  at  stake,  as  for  the 
power  the  loss  of  fortune  gives  me  over  one  I  wish  to  bend  to 
my  will.  It  is  a  business  in  which  I  do  not  wish  my  mime 
mixed  up,  and  since  you  will  take  the  entire  responsibility, 
you  can  charge  such  commissions  as  your  conscience  will 
sanction." 

The  Jew's  face  brightened,  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  to- 
gether joyfully,  as  he  replied, 

"  You  are  a  gentleman  that  knows  how  to  act  liberally 
toward  those  that  serve  you,  Mr.  Malcolm.  I  will  proceed 
immediately  according  to  your  directions,  so  pray  give  them 
to  me  in  your  usual  clear  manner ;  I  will  jot  them  down  on 
this  paper,  that  I  may  be  sure  of  following  them  to  the 
letter." 

An  hour  was  consumed  by  the  pair,  in  arranging  the  most 
minlite  details  of  the  proposed  proceedings  against  Mr.  Har- 
rington, and  then  Malcolm  arose  to  depart,  feeling  far  from 
comfortable  in  his  own  mind;  but  resolved  to  stifle  every 
emotion  of  compassion  toward  the  ruined  family,  until  his 
own  object  was  gained. 

Bondy  obsequiously  attended  him  to  the  door,  and  after 
carefully  barring  and  bolting  it,  he  returned  to  his  room.  As 
he  entered  it  alone,  he  cast  around  a  half  scared  glance,  as  if 
he  almost  expected  to  behold  some  supernatural  appearance 
within :  but  seeing  every  thing  looking  as  usual,  he  quickly 
entered  and  closed  the  door  after  him.  He  stood  before  the 
fire  nervously  working  his  fingers  together  as  he  muttered, 

"  If  people  only  knew  all,  they  might  well  wonder  that  I 
can  live  here  ;  can  sleep  here,  where — " 


271 

He  glanced  around  with  dilating  eyes,  and  then  con- 
tinued, 

"  But  /  need  not  fear.  /  did  not  kill  him.  I  did  not 
even  wish  to  have  his  blood  spilled,  but  Wilkins  was  com- 
pelled to  take  his  life  in  self-defense ;  hugh !  how  he  struggled 
for  it,  poor  devil.  After  all,  it  was  only  a  fight,  in  which  he 
came  off  the  loser.  I  need  not  be  afraid  to  live  here,  for  I 
had  not  half  as  great  a  grudge  against  him  then  as  I  have 
now,  for  hiding  that  money  where  I  can  never  find  it.  I 
would  n't  care  much  if  his  ghost  would  come  back,  provided 
it  would  come  to  tell  me  where  the  fifty  thousand  is  con- 
cealed." 

Here  his  eyes  roved  round  the  walls  of  the  room,  as  if  in 
restless  search  of  a  clew  to  what  he  firmly  believed  was  con- 
cealed somewhere  in  the  old  house.  This  conviction  had 
overcome  his  repugnance  to  the  idea  of  inhabiting  a  spot  so 
long  occupied  by  one  whom  he  had  seen  deprived  of  life. 
Bondy  had  carelessly  examined  the  papers  left  by  Withers, 
and  he  had  found  no  clew  to  the  disposal  of  the  money,  such 
as  had  presented  itself  to  the  more  astute  mind  of  Malcolm. 
He  believed  that  the  murdered  man  had  contrived  some 
secret  place  in  which  the  large  sum  which  had  tempted  the 
robbers  to  enter  the  house  yet  lay  in  safety  ;  and  night  after 
night,  with  a  determination  of  purpose  and  hardness  of  feeling 
it  is  difficult  to  conceive,  he  sounded  the  walls  in  the  unused 
rooms,  and  pryed  up  the  floors  to  find  the  imaginary  place 
of  concealment. 

Several  hours  every  night  were  consumed  in  this  fruitless 

employment,  until  it  had  become  a  species  of  mania  with 
18 


272 

him.  After  carefully  putting  away  the  papers  Malcolm  had 
left  with  him,  he  replenished  his  fire,  that  it  might  burn 
brightly  on  his  return,  lighted  a  dark  lantern,  and  started  on 
his  nightly  round. 

With  a  shiver  he  could  not  repress,  the  Jew  ascended  the 
dusky  staircase,  and  entered  the  mouldy  rooms  above.  They 
had  been  left  to  the  occupation  of  the  bats  so  long,  that  their 
desolation  offered  a  striking  contrast  to  the  bright  and  cheer- 
ful-looking apartments  below.  With  a  dogged  persever- 
ance worthy  of  a  better  cause,  Bondy  took  a  long  staff 
from  a  corner,  and  sounded  every  part  of  the  wall  and 
floor. 

One  portion  returned  a  hollow  echo  he  had  never  before 
remarked,  and,  with  almost  maniac  haste,  he  seized  a  chisel 
from  a  basket  of  tools  he  carried  on  his  arm,  and  tore  open  a 
space  in  the  old  and  rotten  plaster.  It  scattered  around  him 
in  a  stifling  shower,  but  he  heeded  it  not :  greed  and  avarice 
were  raging  in  his  heart,  and  he  hearkened  to  no  other  voice. 
A  mocking  void  met  his  view,  and,  witli  imprecations  at  his 
ill  success,  he  hurled  the  tools  upon  the  floor,  and  retired  to 
the  room  below. 

After  locking  himself  in  there,  he  eyed  the  curtain  which 
concealed  the  entrance  to  the  next  apartment,  and  muttered, 

"  I  wish  I  dared  go  in  there,  where  I  saw  his  ghastly  face, 
as  Wilkins  gave  him  the  finishing  blow.  But  I  dare  not— 
maybe  I  'd  find  him  there  gibbering  over  the  blood  upon  the 
floor,  which  was  his  own  life.  If  I  thought  he  'd  tell  me  what 
he  did  with  the  money,  I  believe  I  'd  stand  even  that.  I  '11 
find  out  yet — I  know  I  will." 


273 

He  drew  near  the  curtain,  but  just  as  he  was  about  to 
grasp  and  pull  it  aside,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  blew  it  toward 
him,  and  he  recoiled  as  if  expecting  to  see  -the  hueless  face  of 
the  murdered  man  emerge  from  it.  A  moment's  reflection 
restored  him  to  composure,  and,  with  a  half  sneer  on  his  face, 
he  said, 

"  On  second  thoughts,  I  '11  take  daylight  for  that  room. 
It's  an  ugly  customer  any  way.  If  old  Withers  is  in 
there,  I  wouldn't  care  to  see  him,  unless  I  was  sure  he 
would  give  me  the  information  I  seek.  A  wretch  like  him 
would  scarcely  do  that ;  so  I  believe  I  will  let  him  alone  for 
the  present." 

He  sat  before  the  fire  until  he  felt  overcome  with  drowsi- 
ness, and  then,  removing  his  boots,  he  made  a  single  spring 
into  the  bed  with  all  his  clothing  on,  and  rolled  the  covering 
around  him,  so  as  to  shut  out  both  light  and  sound. 

He  was  soon  wrapped  in  a  deep  sleep ;  the  lamp  continued 
to  burn  throughout  the  night,  and  the  capacious  chair  in 
which  Withers  once  sat,  remained  in  front  of  the  glowing 
fire.  If  the  invisible  spirit  of  the  murdered  man  lingered 
about  his  old  abiding  place,  it  must  have  scowled  upon  the 

comfortable  appliances  of  his  sleeping  enemy. 
12* 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

AFTER  brief  and  broken  slumbers,  Mr.  Harrington  arose, 
and  visited  the  room  of  his  daughter  to  learn  how  she  had 
passed  the  latter  portion  of  the  night  He  found  her  sleep- 
ing calmly,  while  Adele  had  taken  the  place  of  watcher 
beside  her.  Pauline  was  evidently  better,  but  Adele  was 
struck  with  a  new  apprehension,  as  she  looked  upon  her 
father's  altered  features.  She  whispered, 

"  What  is  the  matter,  father  ?  Has  Victor  given  you  addi- 
tional trouble  ?  Ah  !  this  fear  kept  me  awake  last  night, 
long  after  I  laid  down  to  rest." 

"It  is  a  trouble  that  money  can  remedy,  my  love,"  he 
replied.  "  Let  it  not  be  a  weight  on  your  young  spirits  ;  keep 
their  brightness,  my  darling,  as  long  as  you  may." 

"But — but— -will  not  this  add  to  your  recent  embarrass- 
ments ?  Ah  !  how  could  my  brother  be  so  thoughtless  ? — so 
cruel  ?" 

"  Hush,  Adele.  Youth  is  ever  prone  to  temptation,  and 
we  must  not  judge  him  too  hardly.  Kindness  may  save  your 
brother  yet ;  but  harshness  will  surely  drive  him  to  destruc- 
tion. It  is  imperatively  necessary  that  I  leave  for  New  Or- 
leans to-day,  and  I  came  hither  to  see  if  the  condition  of 
Pauline  is  such,  as  to  permit  me  to  leave  her." 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      275 

"My  sister  is  evidently  much  better;  the  doctor  was  in 
here  a  little  while  since,  and  he  says,  with  careful  nursing,  we 
shall  now  bring  her  through  safely." 

"  Thank  God,  for  this  great  mercy,  even  amid  other  trou- 
bles," said  the  father,  fervently. 

With  wearied  looks,  the  family  assembled  around  a  late 
breakfast.  Though  all  felt  that  a  great  weight  was  lifted  by 
the  convalescence  of  Pauline,  there  was  still  a  nameless  dread 
on  the  score  of  Victor ;  but  he  seemed  the  only  one  uncon- 
scious of  any  cause  of  care.  He  was  refreshed  by  several 
hours  of  sound  sleep,  and  he  arose  with  renewed  buoyancy 
of  spirits,  produced  by  the  agreeable  conviction  that  he  need 
take  no  further  heed  for  the  liquidation  of  his  debts,  since 
his  father  had  so  kindly  assumed  the  responsibility  of  provid- 
ing for  their  payment.  "With  the  emotion  and  suffering  of 
the  past  night,  all  his  repentance  seemed  to  have  departed. 

It  was  the  first  time  himself  and  Evelyn  had  met,  and  he 
earned  on  as  animated  a  conversation  with  their  young  guest, 
as  though  no  sorrow  had  ever  marred  his  happiness.  Mr. 
Harrington  sighed,  over  this  apparent  want  of  sensibility,  and 
feared  it  augured  ill  for  the  reformation  he  so  earnestly  de- 
sired. 

As  they  were  rising  from  the  table,  a  servant  came  in  with 
letters,  and  Mr.  Harrington  found  that  two  among  them  were 
for  himself.  One  was  from  New  Orleans,  and  the  address 
was  written  in  a  hand  entirely  new  to  him.  On  glancing 
over  its  contents,  he  found  it  to  be  a  formal  notification  from 
a  Jewish  broker  in  the  city,  that  in  ten  days  from  the  date  of 
his  communication,  the  mortgage  on  Wavertree  which  had 


276 

been  given  to  Malcolm,  and  transferred  by  that  gentleman  to 
the  writer,  would  be  foreclosed ;  unless  the  advance  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars  was  promptly  paid,  together  with  the  costs 
of  the  proceedings  against  himself. 

"  He  has  indeed  lost  no  time,"  thought  the  sorely-pressed 
man.  "  Ten  days !  have  I  a  friend  on  earth,  who  in  that 
limited  time,  would  advance  so  large  a  sum  for  me  ?  I  fear 
not ;  and  Malcolm  evidently  thinks  the  same,  or  he  would 
not  have  hurried  thus." 

He  retired  to  his  own  apartment  to  ponder  on  his  posi- 
tion, and  seek  for  some  resource  which  would  enable  him  to 
stave  off  the  ruin  that  threatened  him.  He  saw  but  one 
avenue  by  which  he  could  extricate  himself,  and  that  he 
shrank  from,  because,  to  his  honorable  mind,  it  involved  a 
seeming  breach  of  trust.  As  the  guardian  of  Mrs.  Ruskin's 
children,  the  sum  of  forty  thousand  dollars  belonging  to 
them,  was  placed  absolutely  in  his  power,  until  the  youngest 
child  came  of  age,  or  until  Louise  married. 

This  money  Mr.  Harrington  knew  he  could  use  for  his  own 
benefit,  and  the  children  could  not  ultimately  be  losers,  for 
even  in  the  event  of  disaster  to  himself,  his  property  was 
worth  far  more  than  the  claims  against  him,  if  purchased  at 
a  fair  valuation.  On  the  other  hand,  he  knew  Mrs.  Ruskin 
too  well  to  risk  any  thing  belonging  to  her  or  hers  without 
possessing  ample  security  for  its  replacement  at  a  moment's 
warning ;  besides,  Louise  might  marry  any  day,  and  in  all 
probability  would  accept  Nevin,  now  all  hope  of  a  union  with 
Victor  was  at  an  end.  Thus  only  a  temporary  release  would 
be  afforded  him,  and  he  would  only  risk  what  his  conscience 


277 

condemned,  to  produce  no  real  benefit  in  the  end.  There 
was  one  thing  in  his  favor :  his  crop  promised  to  be  unusu- 
ally large  this  year,  and  if  he  could  only  secure  it,  and  trans- 
fer it  to  the  hands  of  his  commission  merchants,  they  would, 
in  all  probability,  be  willing  to  make  a  considerable  advance 
on  it,  if  he  stated  his  exact  position  to  them.  Should  that 
hope  fail  him,  through  some  unforeseen  misfortune,  he  felt 
that  the  old  home  must  go ;  the  spot  which  was  as  dear  to 
his  heart  as  the  very  life-blood  that  flowed  in  it,  must  be- 
come the  property  of  strangers,  and  he  must  seek  an  hum- 
bler shelter  for  his  declining  years.  But  he  dwelt  on  this 
sombre  picture  but  a  few  moments ;  with  his  usual  sanguine 
spirit,  he  began  to  count  the  chances  in  his  favor,  and  left  the 
others  to  take  care  of  themselves. 

Having  summoned  Victor  to  the  library,  where  he  spent 
the  greater  portion  of  the  morning  in  arranging  his  future 
plans,  Mr.  Harrington  impatiently  awaited  his  appearance. 
His  son  came  in  from  the  amusement  of  shooting  at  a  mark 
— a  trial  of  skill  to  which  he  had  challenged  Evelyn  im- 
mediately after  breakfast.  He  looked  animated  and  cheerful, 
but  his  face  grew  sensibly  graver  as  he  beheld  the  serious  ex- 
pression of  his  father. 

Mr.  Harrington  motioned  him  to  a  seat,  which  he  rather 
unwillingly  took. 

"  Sit  down,  Victor,  and  listen  quietly  to  me.  The  after- 
noon packet  takes  me  to  New  Orleans  in  a  few  hours,  to 
attend  to  important  business  of  my  own.  While  there,  I  wish 
to  make  an  effort  to  extricate  you  from  the  difficulties  in 
•which  you  are  involved." 


278  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Do  not  thank  me  yet,  Victor,"  said  his  father,  coldly.  "  I 
am  sorry  to  see  you  so  indifferent  to  what,  at  your  age,  I 
should  have  felt  as  a  disgrace." 

"Why,  father,  I  have  only  (Jqne  what  others  of  my  station 
do  every  day.  I  was  unlucky,  and — " 

"  And  you  risked  what  you  knew  you  had  not  the  means 
of  paying,  sir.  But  we  will  not  now  discuss  this  painful 
subject — a  great  change  must  take  place  in  you  before  such 
a  discussion  could  be  beneficial.  I  wish  to  learn  from  you 
to  whom  the  greater  portion  of  the  sums  lost  by  you  are 
owing  ?" 

Victor  was  offended,  and  he  sullenly  replied, 

"  About  five  thousand  are  due  to  individuals.  The  remain- 
der to  the  proprietors  of  the  house." 

"  From  that  fact  I  judge  that  it  has  long  been  a  place 
of  resort  for  you;  they  would  scarcely  have  permitted  a 
stranger  to  become  so  largely  indebted  to  them.  They  sup- 
posed you  the  son  of  a  rich  man,  and,  therefore,  helped  you 
on  to  ruin." 

"  Of  course  they  knew  my  prospects,"  said  Victor,  coolly, 
"  and  they  believed  you  would  come  to  the  rescue,  as  you 
have  already  promised  to  do.  As  I  said  before,  I  have 
only  done  what  all  young  men  of  spirit  do  every  day." 

"  We  will  waive  the  discussion  of  that,  if  you  please  ;  you 
are  already  in  possession  of  my  sentiments  on  the  subject  of 
gambling.  I  consider  it  the  foundation  of  nearly  every  vice, 
for  it  opens  every  avenue  to  temptation.  Five  thousand  dol- 
lars, then,  I  shall  consider  the  maximum  of  your  debts,  for  I 


279 

shall  not  pay  the  obliging  proprietors  of  the  tables  at  all ;  and 
they  may  consider  themselves  fortunate  to  escape  a  prosecu- 
tion. If  I  had  time  to  attend  to  it,  I  believe  I  would  take  up 
the  cause  of  society,  and  endeavor  to  cast  such  insatiable 
leeches  from  its  bosom." 

Victor  looked  extremely  crest-fallen.     He  said, 

"  I  shall  feel  myself  dishonored  by  such  a  proceeding, 
sir.  I  shall  never  again  dare  to  hold  up  my  head  in  my  own 
set." 

"So  much  the  better,  if  your  set  habitually  frequent 
such  places.  O,  my  son,  my  son,  is  this  the  end  of  all 
my  care?  Of  all  the  fond  hopes  that  once  centered  in 
you  ?" 

Victor  made  no  reply  to  this  appeal,  but  sat  looking 
gloomily-  out  of  the  window,  apparently  unconscious  of  the 
wounded  spirit  breathed  in  the  reproachful  tones  of  his 
father's  voice.  Mr.  Harrington  gazed  mournfully  upon  him, 
and  after  a  pause  said, 

"  Look  at  me,  Victor.  Can  you  not  mark  the  change  that 
mental  uneasiness  has  wrought  upon  me  within  the  last  few 
months  ?  Are  you  not  fully  aware  that  financial  embarrass- 
ments have  caused  this  ?  Can  you,  then,  ask  me  to  take 
upon  myself  the  additional  burden  of  a  large  debt,  incurred  as 
this  has  been  ?" 

"  I  should  not,  perhaps,  have  expected  it,  sir,  if  you  had  not 
intimated  some  such  intention  last  night." 

"  You  misunderstood  me,  then.  I  knew  at  the  time,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  me  to  think  of  discharging  the  whole 
amount.  It  was,  therefore,  a  relief  to  me,  when  you  said  that 


280      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

the  larger  portion  is  due  to  the  keepers  of  the  house.  Those 
who  live  by  the  fraud  and  ruin  of  others,  I  do  not  scruple  to 
deal  with  according  to  their  merits." 

"I  shall  be  dishonored  by  it,  at  all  events,"  responded 
Victor,  gloomily.  "There  is  but  one  code  among  men  of 
honor." 

"  Honor  !"  repeated  his  father.  "  A  shameful  desecration 
of  the  word  it  is,  to  use  it  thus.  I  care  very  little  what  esti- 
mate such  men  put  on  you — and  if  you  are  compelled,  by 
my  acts,  to  hold  yourself  aloof  from  them,  I  shall  rejoice  that 
it  is  so.  Since  you  have  proved  yourself  so  weak,  I  think  it 
best  that  you,  in  future,  remain  at  Wavertree.  I  am  afraid 
the  attempt  you  made  to  do  something  for  yourself,  before 
encumbering  yourself  with  a  wife,  was  a  most  unwise  thing 
for  you.  Your  Aunt  Ruskin  wil)  hardly  consent  to  give  you 
Louise  now." 

"  I  do  not  believe  she  ever  meant  to  give  her  to  me,  after 
she  found  that  you  had  met  with  heavy  losses.  That  little 
flirt  is  to  be  the  cause  of  my  ruin  yet." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Only  this — that  if  Louise  finally  disappoints  me,  I  shall 
\  be  good  for  nothing,  I  know  I  shall.  I  believe  I  would  make 
an  effort  to  retrieve  myself,  if  my  cousin  was  to  be  my  re- 
ward." 

"  Are  you  then  mad  enough  still  to  cherish  hope  in  that 
quarter  ?" 

"  I  must  do  so,  as  long  as  Louise  is  single ;  and  if  she 
marries  another,  I  believe  I  will  shoot  myself." 

These  words  were  uttered  with  a  reckless  air  of  desperation, 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      281 

which  made  his  father  regard  him  more  seriously  than  ever. 
He  sternly  asked, 

"  And  would  you  dare  to  consummate  your  own  eternal 
ruin  thus  ?" 

"  What  would  I  then  have  to  live  for  ?  I  tell  you,  father, 
I  have  been  on  the  eve  of  doing  this  more  than  once  during 
the  past  few  weeks,  and  if  things  go  on  so  contrary  with  me 
ngain,  I  do  not  believe  I  can  answer  for  myself." 

Mr.  Harrington  was  appalled  by  the  coolness  with  which 
he  spoke  of  self-destruction.  He  asked  with  emotion, 

"  Victor,  have  you  ever  reflected  on  the  suicide's  fate,  after 
death?" 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  much  like  that  of  the  majority  of 
mankind,  if  we  give  implicit  faith  to  what  the  preachers  say ; 
for  they  literally  make  it  as  hard  for  any  man  to  enter  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  as  for  the  camel  to  pass  through  the 
eye  of  a  needle." 

"  My  son,  on  a  subject  of  such  vital  importance  to  every 
living  being,  I  scarcely  expected  so  flippant  an  answer  from 
you.  I  request  that  in  my  absence,  you  will  read  such  books 
as  Philip  Evelyn  can  recommend  to  you,  and  reflect  seriously 
upon  their  contents.  When  I  return,  I  trust  that  I  may  find 
you  in  a  more  promising  state  of  mind." 

"  So  Evelyn  preaches,  does  ho  ?  I  half  suspected  as  much 
from  his  looks,"  replied  Victor,  contemptuously.  "  Thank  you, 
sir ;  but  when  I  take  up  the  study  of  theology  I  shall  seek  a 
wiser  tutor  than  he  is  likely  to  be." 

"  I  would  to  God  that  you  only  resembled  him ;  then  I 
might  indeed  be  proud  to  call  you  son." 


282 

"I  am  flattered,  sir,  that  you  estimate  another  so  much 
more  highly  than  you  do  me,"  replied  the  perverse  Victor, 
flushing  angrily.  "  You  had  better  claim  this  paragon  for 
your  son,  in  reality.  Either  of  my  sisters,  I  fancy,  he  would 
be  glad  to  take  for  a  wife ;  only  Pauline  is  bespoke  for  Mal- 
colm, i  suppose ;  and  Adele  is  a  deuced  deal  too  handsome 
to  be  given  to  a  canting,  Methodistical  youngster,  like  this 
Evelyn." 

"  You  speak  too  freely,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Harrington,  rebuk- 
ingly,  "  and  you  do  not  seem  to  be  yet  aware  that  all  inti- 
macy between  Mr.  Malcolm  and  my  family  is  at  an  end." 

Victor  looked  really  astonished.     He  asked, 

"  And  Pauline  ?  What  did  his  attentions  to  her,  mean  ? 
What  caused  this  illness  2  Ah !  I  begin  to  see  a  gleam  of 
light :  have  you  refused  your  consent,  sir,  and  caused  all  this 
suffering  to  my  sister  ?" 

"  It  matters  not  now.  Suffice  it,  that  Malcolm  is  no  longer 
a  suitor  to  my  daughter.  Furnish  me  with  a  list  of  your 
debts,  and  the  persons  to  whom  they  are  due,  that  I  may  see 
what  can  be  done  toward  settling  them  before  I  return  home 
again." 

This  command  Victor  ungraciously  obeyed,  and  after  his 
father  had  placed  the  memoranda  in  his  pocket-book,  the 
young  man  discontentedly  said, 

"  After  living  in  such  a  round  of  excitement  as  my  life  has 
been  since  my  return  from  college,  how  do  you  think  I  can 
stand  this  humdrum  place,  sir  ?  with  no  life  in  it — nothing 
going  on  as  it  used  to  ?  I  shall  perish  of  ennui  here.V 

"  I  shall  exceedingly  regret  to  find  that  you  have  no  re- 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  283 

sources  within  yourself.  Fish,  shoot,  hunt,  work,  read — in 
short,  there  is  plenty  to  do,  if  you  will  only  occupy  your- 
self with  healthful  and  natural  pursuits." 

"All  tiresome,  and  ruinous  to  the  hands  and  the  com- 
plexion, except  reading ;  and  of  that  I  am  not  particularly 
fond.  Was  too  regularly  bored  with  it  at  college." 

Mr.  Harrington's  patience  was  exhausted. 

"  Victor,"  he  sternly  said,  "  leave  me  alone,  and  give  me  no 
further  cause  to-day,  to  wish  that  you  had  never  been  born. 
God  forgive  me  for  losing  my  temper ;  but  you  really  do  con- 
trive to  wound  and  exasperate  me  beyond  endurance.  Such 
as  Wavertree  is,  it  is  your  home,  and  you  must  make  the 
best  of  it,  since  you  can  no  longer  afford  the  means  to  follow 
your  heartless  career  of  city  dissipation." 

"  I  obey  you,  sir :  but  pray  tell  Louise  from  me,  that  if  she 
marries  Nevin,  I  will  shoot  him  first,  and  myself  afterward." 

"  I  shall  deliver  no  such  absurd  message,"  replied  Mr.  Har- 
rington, now  really  angry  with  his  flippant  son.  "  I  shall  tell 
her  if  she  values  happiness  or  respectability,  never  to  marry 
a  man  who  has  respect  for  nothing  on  earth  ;  not  even  the 
gray  hairs  of  his  own  father." 

Victor  arose,  and  with  a  more  serious  manner  than  he  had' 
hitherto  assumed,  said, 

"  Father,  I  do  respect  them,  but  you  do  not  make  due 
allowance  for  the  condition  of  my  mind.  I  am  ruined,  there- 
fore, I  am  reckless ;  but  I  am  in  solemn  earnest  about  Louise. 
I  have  sworn  that  I  will  never  live  to  see  her  the  wife  of 
another,  and  I  never  will." 

He  rushed  from  the  room,  and  in  a  few  more  moments 


284 

was  seen  plunging  across  the  yard  with  heedless  speed. 
Deeply  discomfited  by  his  words,  Mr.  Harrington  remained 
in  unpleasant  musing  several  moments,  and  then  went  to  his 
daughters'  apartment  to  bid  them  farewell. 

Pauline  was  awake,  and  smiled  faintly  upon  him  as  he 
came  in. 

"  You  must  leave  me  ?"  she  found  voice  to  say. 

"Yes,  my  darling,  but  not  for  long.  Your  illness  has 
already  interfered  with  business  that  admits  of  no  further 
delay.  Make  haste  to  get  well,  and  let  me  find  you  almost 
blooming  on  my  return." 

A  shadow  flitted  over  her  wan  face,  and  her  lips  trembled 
with  emotion.  Making  an  effort  to  repress  her  feelings,  she 
whispered, 

"  I  will  try  to  live,  for  your  sake.  Dear  father,  tell  me,  is 
your  business  connected  with — with — " 

She  could  not  pronounce  the  name,  but  Mr.  Harrington 
understood  her,  and  evasively  replied, 

"  I  shall  not  have  occasion  to  see  Malcolm  in  settling  our 
affairs.  He  has  transferred  his  accounts  to  another.  Suffice 
it,  my  love,  that  I  can  settle  with  him." 

"  Thank  Heaven !"  and  she  closed  her  eyes  to  keep  back 
the  tears  that  would  come,  as  she  remembered  how  differ- 
ently she  had  once  felt  concerning  her  fathers's  indebtedness 
to  Malcolm. 

A  melancholy  household  was  left  after  Mr.  Harrington's 
departure.  Victor,  self-absorbed,  and  careless  of  the  feelings 
of  others,  wandered  alone  in  the  forest  many  hours  of  every 
day ;  he  seemed  to  take  no  interest  in  attending  to  the  busi- 


285 

ness  of  the  plantation,  which  afforded  his  father  so  many 
pleasant  and  healthful  hours  of  exercise  in  the  open  air.  He 
inade.no  effort  to  follow  any  rational  employment  that  could 
have  afforded  occupation  to  his  mind,  and  prevented  it  from 
dwelling  on  the  probability  that  in  the  wreck  of  his  worldly 
prospects,  he  had  lost  all  chance  of  ever  gaining  Louise. 

His  only  employment  was  smoking  cigars,  and  to  such 
excess  did  he  carry  their  use,  that  his  health  was  seriously 
affected  by  it.  To  Miss  Gertrude's  remonstrances  he  turned 
a  deaf  ear,  and  to  her  dismay  he  added  another  habit  even 
more  injurious  to  his  future  welfare.  Day  after  day  at  din- 
ner, he  drank  so  much  wine  as  to  stupefy  him  for  the  remain- 
der of  the  afternoon.  He  would  not  listen  to  the  affectionate 
warning  his  aunt  ventured  to  utter,  and  she  impatiently 
awaited  the  return  of  his  father,  in  the  hope  that  his  influ- 
ence would  stay  the  rapid  downward  career  the  unhappy 
young  man  seemed  determined  to  run. 

Evelyn  followed  the  usual  routine  to  which  he  had  been 
accustomed  before  the  departure  of  his  old  friend,  and  he 
vainly  endeavored  to  interest  Victor  in  pursuits  he  found  so 
congenial  to  his  healthy  and  active  mind.  Unfortunately  Vic- 
tor had  taken  a  dislike  to  him,  and  refused  all  overtures  of  in- 
timacy in  such  a  manner,  as  finally  to  induce  Philip  to  confine 
his  intercourse  with  him  to  mere  civility.  Thus  the  influ- 
ence from  which  Mr.  Harrington  had  hoped  so  much  for  his 
perverse  son,  was  negatived. 

Miss  Gertrude,  and  Adele,  confined  themselves  chiefly  to 
the  sick  room  of  Pauline,  in  attendance  on  her.  After  her 
father's  departure,  an  unfavorable  change  took  place,  and  a 


286 

low  nervous  fever  settled  over  her,  the  offspring,  doubtless, 
of  her  state  of  mind.  Days  of  wordless  Buffering  passed 
away,  in  which  a  sound,  a  sudden  motion,  was  agony  to  her. 
She  struggled  heroically  to  regain  the  mastery  of  her  own 
sensations,  but  the  shattered  physical  system  seemed  as  if  it 
would  never  regain  its  proper  equilibrium. 

This  excessive  bodily  weakness  added  intensely  to  the  suf- 
ferings of  the  mind,  and  there  were  hours  of  such  darkness, 
such  utter  mental  prostration,  that  death  itself  often  seemed 
preferable  to  the  boon  of  continued  existence,  now  the 
brightest  hope  of  life  was  forever  extinguished. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

TIME  wears  on,  whether  wearily  or  happily,  and  at  length 
a  slight  amendment  in  the  health  of  Pauline  took  place. 
She  could  once  more  sit  up,  looking  the  pale  shadow  of  her 
former  self;  and  then  came  a  new  phase  in  the  condition  of 
her  mind,  that  disgusted  herself. 

As  she  slowly  mended,  a  degree  of  irritability  of  temper 
manifested  itself,  to  the  surprise  of  all  around  her.  She  had 
always  been  mild  and  conciliating  to  every  one,  but  now,  the 
restless  unhappiness  that  preyed  on  her,  seemed  to  have 
destroyed  all  power  of  self-control.  Trifles  she  would  not 
once  have  noticed,  often  irritated  her,  and  then  ashamed  of 
her  own  impatience  with  those  who  were  so  kind  and  consid- 
erate toward  her,  she  would  weep  so  violently  as  to  alarm  her 
affectionate  nurses. 

Evelyn  read  to  her  an  hour  every  day,  after  she  recovered 
sufficiently  to  desire  it;  but  he  was  compelled  to  be  ex- 
tremely cautious  in  his  selection  of  books.  Poetry  or  works 
of  fiction,  in  which  she  had  once  taken  great  pleasure, 
excited  emotions  that  threatened  to  destroy  the  little  tran- 
quillity she  had  regained.  He  generally  commenced  with 
reading  the  Psalm  for  the  day,  and  then  books  of  travel ;  or 

essays  filled  the  remainder  of  the  time. 
19 


288 

A  new  and  wide  realm  of  thought  was  opened  to  both 
sisters  by  the  valuable  writings  of  the  British  Essayists  ;  and 
Adele  often  found  herself  involuntarily  laying  down  her  sew- 
ing, and  gazing  upon  the  expressive  features  of  the  reader, 
with  an  interest  that  made  her  deeply  blush  when  she  be 
came  conscious  of  it. 

When  Evelyn  gave  utterance  to  some  sentence  that  par- 
ticularly pleased  him,  he  seemed  naturally  to  look  toward 
Adele  for  sympathy — for  Pauline  listened  with  closed  eyes,  as 
she  lay  back  in  her  large  invalid  chair,  and  the  careful  aunt 
was  generally  too  busily  engaged  with  her  sewing  to  do  any 
thing  more  than  listen  intelligently. 

Many  were  the  glances  thus  exchanged,  which  had  a  far 
deeper  meaning  than  either  dreamed  ;  though  each  was  fully 
aware  that  the  society  of  the  other  became  more  attractive 
every  day.  Philip  looked  forward  to  that  hour  as  the  bright- 
est in  the  twenty -four  ;  and  Adele  caught  herself  listening  for 
his  step  each  morning,  as  the  time  for  him  to  come  in  drew 
near. 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks  Mr.  Harrington  came  back  to 
Wavertree,  looking  more  cheerful  than  those  he  had  leftx  be- 
hind dared  to  hope.  He  informed  them  that,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  senior  partner  in  the  house  that  received  his 
crops,  he  had  been  enabled  to  settle  his  affairs  on  a  more 
satisfactory  footing,  and  he  was  no  longer  in  the  power  of 
Malcolm.  This  was  a  joyful  announcement  to  Adele,  and 
Pauline  also  felt  that  her  mind  was  relieved  of  a  great 
weight.  One  of  the  most  fruitful  sources  of  anguish  to  her, 
had  been  the  thought  that  the  man  to  whom  her  heart  would 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  289 

not  become  indifferent,  was  the  hard  and  merciless  creditor  of 
her  father. 

Mr.  Harrington  did  not  explain  to  her  the  ungenerous  use 
made  of  his  note  by  Malcolm,  and  he  rather  enjoyed  the  idea 
of  the  amazement  and  rage  that  gentleman  must  have  felt, 
when  he  found  that  his  intended  prey  had  escaped  him. 
That  his  finely-spun  web  had  been  for  naught,  as  his  victim 
seemed  to  have  torn  it  away  as  easily  as  Gulliver  freed  him- 
self from  the  fetters  of  the  Lilliputians.  No  meeting  took 
place  between  himself  and  Malcolm  as  the  kindness  of 
Mr.  Hall,  when  he  fully  understood  the  position  of  his  old 
friend,  enabled  him  to  settle  with  the  Jew  without  reference 
to  him. 

To  Victor,  Mr.  Harrington  brought  no  consolation.  Louise 
was  as  gay  and  fond  of  admiration  as  ever,  and  Mrs.  Ruskin 
quite  decided  that  the  matrimonial  aspirations  of  her  nephew 
should  be  completely  crushed.  She  spoke  confidentially  to 
Mr.  Harrington  of  the  attentions  of  Nevin  to  her  daughter, 
and  informed  him  that  she  looked  forward  with  certainty  to  a 
union  between  them  before  very  long. 

Mr.  Harrington  remembered  the  looks  and  words  of  his 
son  on  their  last  interview,  when  he  spoke  of  his  false  love ; 
but  he  could  not  urge  the  claims  of  one  who  had  proved  so 
untrue  to  himself  as  the  unhappy  Victor;  and  he  merely 
suggested  to  the  mother  that  it  would  probably  be  best  for 
all  parties  to  permit  Louise  to  enjoy  her  youth  a  little  longer, 
before  putting  on  the  shackles  of  matrimony.  This  advice 
was  not  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Ruskin's  views,  and  nothing  re- 
mained for  the  father,  but  to  advise  Victor  to  stifle  his  hopes, 


290 

and  apply  himself  to  some  absorbing  pursuit,  to  drive  from 
his  heart  the  memory  of  his  blighted  affections. 

But  unhappily  Victor  was  not  made  of  the  materials  to 
succeed  in  any  struggle.  Unstable  as  water,  self-indulgence 
had  been  his  creed  so  long,  that  when  real  sorrow  came  on 
him,  he  was  no  better  fitted  to  cope  with  it  than  the  dead 
autumn  leaf  is  to  resist  the  blast  which  whirls  it  to  the 
ground. 

He  pondered  on  his  father's  information  until  his  jealous 
heart  could  endure  no  more.  About  a  week  after  Mr.  Har- 
rington's return,  Victor  left  "Wavertree  in  the  night.  The 
next  morning  one  of  the  servants  brought  his  master  a  note, 
which  the  young  gentleman  had  intrusted  to  him  at  the  mo- 
ment of  his  departure.  In  great  disturbance,  Mr.  Harrington 
read  the  following  lines : 

"  Father,  I  can  not  live  at  Wavertree.  I  should  either  be- 
come a  reckless  sot  or  a  madman.  I  have  decided  on  leav- 
ing, and,  I  warn  you,  it  will  be  useless  to  seek  me.  As 
Victor  Harrington  I  will  no  longer  be  known,  until  I  have 
either  redeemed  myself,  or  gone  to  destruction.  In  the  latter 
case,  I  may  reveal  my  identity  in  my  dying  moments,  that 
you  may  learn  through  others  of  the  fate  of  the  son  who  has 
always  been  a  source  of  uneasiness  to  you. 

"  I  ask  nothing  from  you,  for  you  have  already  done  more 
for  me  than  the  condition  of  your  own  affairs  warranted.  I 
am  not  quite  destitute,  for  I  can  raise  a  small  sum  of  money 
from  the  jewelry  I  once  took  a  silly  pride  in  decking  myself 
with.  I  also  have  a  resource  aside  from  that,  by  which  I, 


hope  to  acquire  a  support ;  but  I  shall  not  betray  to  you  what 
it.  is. 

"  Judge  me  as  leniently  as  you  can,  for  I  feel  that  I  am 
the  cause  of  trouble  to  all  connected  with  me. 

"  Your  unhappy 

"  VICTOR." 

Deeply  pained,  and  humiliated  was  Mr.  Harrington  by  this 
desertion  ;  and  in  spite  of  his  son's  prohibition,  he  caused  his 
friends  in  New  Orleans  to  make  diligent  inquiry  after  him. 
When  they  failed,  a  p  Jice  officer  was  employed  to  discover 
his  place  of  concealment ;  but  Victor  at  least  possessed  suffi- 
cient ingenuity  to  baffle  them  all ;  for  his  whereabouts  re- 
mained a  profound  mystery  to  those  most  deeply  interested 
in  his  welfare. 

Had  Mr.  Harrington  been  in  the  habit  of  examining  the 
theatrical  announcements,  he  might  have  found  a  clew  in  one 
which  speedily  appeared  in  the  city  papers.  It  ran  thus : 

"Mr.  Julian  St.  George,  a  young  English  gentleman  of 
aristocratic  connections,  and  fine  musical  talents,  will  appear, 
before  a  New  Orleans  audience  on  the  twentieth  instant ;  he 
will  give  a  most  accurate  imitation  of  the  performances  of 
the  most  celebrated  bugle  players  in  the  world,  without  the 
use  of  any  instrument.  We  promise  the  music-loving  public 
a  great  treat." 

Thus,  sooner  than  endure  the  monotony  of  his  beautiful 
home,  the  prodigal  stifled  his  pride,  and  under  a  disguise  so 
skillfully  prepared  as  to  baffle  even  those  who  had  known 
him  most  intimately,  Victor  lived  in  the  midst  of  the  excite- 


292 

xnent  that  had  become  a  necessity  to  his  vacant  and  undisci- 
plined mind.  He  lodged  in  the  French  portion  of  the  city, 
and  when  his  professional  engagements  were  ended,  the 
greater  portion  of  his  time  was  spent  in  a  gambling-house 
near  his  rooms.  There  the  liberal  sum  he  received  weekly 
was  soon  staked ;  he  played  with  various  success  ;  sometimes 
he  won  largely,  but  when  he  was  encouraged  by  this  gleam 
of  good  fortune  to  risk  nearly  every  thing  he  possessed  on  a 
single  cast,  he  invariably  arose  a  heavy  loser. 

When  not  thus  employed,  he  watched  the  movements  of 
Louise.  His  passion  for  her  seemed  to  have  assumed  the 
form  of  a  mania,  and  day  after  day  she  received  from  him 
the  most  passionate  letters,  filled  with  his  despair  at  the  idea 
of  her  union  with  Nevin.  At  first,  the  silly  vanity  of  Louise 
was  flattered  by  these  effusions  ;  but  gradually  they  filled  her 
with  fear,  and  also  touched  her  heart  as  deeply  as  it  was 
capable  of  being  moved  by  the  anguish  of  another.  She 
shrank  from  showing  them  to  her  mother,  lest  Mrs.  Ruskin 
should  condemn  the  unhappy  young  man  more  harshly 
than  ever.  In  her  inmost  heart  Louise  felt  that  Victor  had 
been  hardly  dealt  with,  both  by  herself  and  her  mother. 
The  attentions  of  Nevin  had  assumed  such  a  phase  as  to  leave 
no  room  to  doubt  his  intentions,  and  Louise  looked  into  her 
own  heart  to  discover  its  true  feelings  toward  him. 

She  did  not  for  an  instant  attempt  to  practice  on  herself 
the  deception  that  she  cared  for  any  thing  more  than  the 
worldly  advantages  she  secured  by  accepting  Nevin ;  and 
she  felt  that  if  Victor  Harrington  could  only  afford  her  a 
gay  home,  with  sufficient  to  indulge  her  fashionable  tastes, 


293 

even  without  great  wealth,  she  would  not  hesitate  in  her 
choice. 

While  in  this  vacillating  state  of  rnind,  she  received  a  wild 
letter  from  Victor,  demanding  an  interview  as  a  right,  and 
threatening  her  vaguely  if  she  did  not  comply  with  his 
request.  He  stated  that  he  should  be  at  the  Catholic  ceme- 
tery at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day, 
where  she  must  meet  him,  or  forever  repent  her  refusal. 

At  first,  Louise  hesitated ;  but  the  romance  of  the  appoint- 
ment possessed  a  great  charm  for  her;  and  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  tone  of  the  letter  that  made  her  tremble  at  the 
idea  of  refusing  him  the  meeting  he  seemed  so  anxious  to 
have.  She  owed  it  to  him  to  grant  this  earnest  request,  and 
hear  all  he  wished  to  communicate.  By  seeing  him,  she 
could  better  judge  the  condition  of  his  mind,  and  the  possi- 
bility of  a  future  union  between  them. 

Thus  argued  Louise,  and  she  was  not  one  to  consider 
either  imprudence  or  risk  in  such  a  meeting.  She  possessed 
full  confidence  in  her  power  to  baffle  the  espionage  of  her 
mother  in  such  a  manner  as  to  escape  detection ;  her  only 
fear  was,  that  by  some  chance  Nevin  might  become  aware  of 
this  clandestine  meeting,  and  thus  the  chance  of  sharing  his 
wealth  would  be  lost  to  her.  With  her  acute  worldly  rea- 
soning, she  saw  that  if  Victor  was  once  entirely  out  of  the 
question,  the  liberal  young  Southerner  would  in  all  proba- 
bility be  the  best  match  that  would  ever  be  offered  to  her 
acceptance. 

She  finally  resolved,  at  all  hazards,  to  meet  her  cousin ;  and 
in  that  interview  decide  her  own  fate  irrevocably.  Dressing 


294  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

herself  as  plainly  as  possible,  she  wrapped  a  large  dark  shawl 
around  her,  and  shrouded  her  features  beneath  the  double 
folds  of  a  thick  green  veil ;  thus  sheltered  from  recognition 
by  any  friend  she  might  chance  to  meet,  she  took  her  way 
toward  the  appointed  place. 

The  evening  was  dark  and  chilly,  and  she  shivered  as  she 
hurried  toward  the  gloomy  rendezvous,  wondering  in  her 
own  mind  why  Victor  had  selected  such  a  place  for  their 
interview.  At  that  day  the  Catholic  cemetery  lay  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  city,  and  as  one  approached  them,  the  miniature 
temples  of  death  more  nearly  resembled  the  pictures  of  small 
Chinese  pagodas,  than  mausoleums  for  Christian  burial. 

The  nature  of  the  soil  does  not  there  permit  respectcible 
burial  in  the  bosom  of  mother  earth,  and  vaults  of  various 
sizes  and  shapes,  are  built  in  rows  like  the  streets  of  a  mima 
ture  city.  Around  many  of  these  are  small  flower-beds,  as 
neatly  kept  as  in  the  most  luxuriant  garden ;  on  others  are 
vases  daily  filled  with  fresh  flowers,  even  years  after  the  lost 
one  had  been  laid  there  in  the  marble  repose  of  death ;  a 
beautiful  and  tender  tribute,  that  never  fails  to  touch  the 
heart  of  the  wanderer  amid  the  wilderness  of  tombs. 

Louise  drew  near  the  entrance  with  some  misgiving,  for  the 
evening  was  so  dreary  that  she  began  to  fear  she  would  find 
herself  alone  in  the  cemetery  with  her  outraged  and  half- 
maddened  cousin.  She  had  made  but  a  few  steps  within  the 
inclosure,  and  was  hesitating  whether  to  advance  or  retreat, 
when  a  figure,  that  she  at  first  did  not  recognize  as  Victor, 
rushed  precipitately  from  behind  a  neighboring  tomb,  and 
sizing  her  hand  with  violence,  said, 


295 

"  I  began  to  fear  you  would  not  come ;  and  oh !  Louise,  if 
you  had  not,  I  should  have  been  desperate — you  know  not 
what  I  might  have  been  tempted  to  do." 

Louise  endeavored  to  extricate  her  hand  from  his  vice-like 
grasp,  but  she  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  withstand  the 
force  of  a  whirlwind. 

"  Why  do  you  grasp  me  thus  ?"  she  asked  in  alarm ;  "  es- 
pecially as  I  am  not  certain  that  you  are  indeed  my  cousin." 

Victor  laughed  wildly,  and  the  sound  rang  out  startlingly 
amid  the  homes  of  the  silent  dead. 

Louise  was  shocked,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face.  He  exclaimed, 

"  Not  know  me,  Louise  Ruskin !  That  is  as  false  as  your 
own  double-dealing  heart.  You  know  there  is  but  one  man 
in  this  world,  who  would  seek  this  interview.  Look  at  me, 
and  see  if  in  the  wretched  being  before  you,  disguised  as  he 
may  be,  you  can  not  at  once  recognize  the  man  your  treach- 
ery is  killing  by  slow  degrees." 

Louise  did  indeed  look  at  him,  and  her  heart  quivered  and 
shrank,  as  she  beheld  his  burning  eyes,  his  wasted  features, 
and  reckless  expression.  His  complexion  was  artificially 
darkened,  and  he  wore  a  wig  and  false  whiskers,  several 
shades  lighter  than  his  own  hair,  but  to  her  vision  Victor  Har- 
rington stood  so  clearly  revealed,  that  she  wondered  how  her 
uncle's  emissaries  had  been  so  unsuccessful  in  their  search 
after  him. 

Her  eyes  at  last  met  those  of  Victor,  and  as  she  gazed 

J  O  , 

into  them,  as  if  spell-bound,  all  the  womanly  tenderness  that 
was  in  her  nature  was  aroused  by  what  she  beheld  there, 


296      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

and  she  burst  into  tears.  As  if  soothed  by  this  evidence  of 
feeling,  Victor  gently  drew  her  toward  him,  until  her  head 
rested  on  his  bosom,  and  she  wept  till  her  emotion  exhausted 
itself. 

He  then  led  her  slowly  forward,  almost  sustaining  her 
steps,  until  they  gained  the  shelter  of  a  high  vault,  beside 
which  was  a  bench  shaded  by  darkly  overarching  cedars. 
On  this  he  placed  her ;  and  then  mournfully  regarding  her, 
he  said, 

"  So  you  can  weep  for  me,  Louise,  though  your  own  incon- 
stancy, your  open  encouragement  to  the  hopes  of  another, 
are  the  hardest  things  I  have  to  bear,  unfortunate  as  I  have 
lately  been." 

"  Oh,  Victor,  situated  as  I  am,  what  can  I  do  ?  Why  have 
you  absented  yourself  from  all  your  friends  ?  Why  entered 
on  the  disreputable  career  you  must  be  pursuing.  You  must 
know  that  such  conduct  only  more  firmly  closes  my  mother's 
heart  toward  you." 

"  I  may,  in  my  turn,  ask  you  what  can  I  do  ?"  replied  Victor, 
disdainfully.  "  Would  you  have  me  buiy  myself  at  Waver- 
tree,  where  my  jealous  heart  often  made  mo  half  wild  because 
I  could  not  know  what  you  were  doing :  could  not  behold  your 
coquettish  face,  and  know  on  whom  it  was  smiling  most 
brightly.  Louise,  God  has  given  me  but  one  strong  feeling, 
and  that  is,  my  love  for  you.  If  any  other  impulses  possessed 
the  same  strength  and  tenacity,  I  should  be  capable  of  making 
myself  all  the  pride  of  my  father  once  hoped  I  would  become. 
I  can  not,  I  will  not  see  you  given  to  another  ;  so  I  bid  you 
beware." 


297 

"  Of  what  ?"  asked  Louise,  trembling  with  vague  apprehen- 
sion. 

"  Of  my  despair ;  for  I  warn  you  it  is  as  a  consuming 
fire." 

"  What  would  you  do,  Victor?"  she  faltered. 

"  God  knows.  The  blackness  of  darkness  hangs  between 
me  and  the  future.  What  I  may  be  tempted  to  do,  the 
demon  that  has  so  severely  tried  me,  only  knows.  I  might 
be  tempted  kill  you,  Louise,  and  then  destroy  myself.  Such 
things  have  been  done  by  desperate  men  before  to-day." 

Louise  looked  on  him,  and  felt,  with  increasing  fear,  that 
Victor  was  terribly  in  earnest.  Hers  was  not  a  nature  to 
cope  with  such  real  and  passionate  anguish  as  she  beheld 
written  in  every  line  of  his  countenance,  so  she  again  had 
recourse  to  tears. 

He  held  both  her  hands  clasped  in  his,  and  as  the  large 
clear  drops  fell  upon  his  own,  he  raised  them  to  his  lips,  and 
tenderly  kissed  them  away.  At  length,  he  said  in  a  softer 
tone, 

"  These  tears  assure  me,  Louise,  of  what  I  have  sometimes 
doubted ;  that  in  your  heart  I  still  hold  a  tender  place. 
Speak — tell  me  that  I  am  dearer  to  you  than  Kevin,  or  in- 
deed than  any  other." 

"  I  may  with  truth  give  you  that  assurance,  dear  Victor, 
though  your  jealous  heart  has  so  cruelly  doubted  me.  I  only 
amuse  myself  with  the  admiration  of  others,  but  love  is  a  very 
different  thing." 

Victor  regarded  her  searchingly,  and  an  expression  of  soft- 
ness crossed  his  features.  He  asked, 


298  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  Will  you  prove  your  sincerity,  Louise  ?" 

"  If  I  can — the  proof  you  ask  may  not  be  in  my  power." 

"  It  is  fully  in  your  power." 

"Then  let  me  hear  what  it  is?" 

"  If  I  can,  in  three  months  from  this  time,  offer  you  what 
even  you  would  consider  an  independence,  will  you  refuse 
Nevin,  in  spite  of  your  mother's  opposition  and  unite  your 
fate  with  mine  ?" 

Louise  hesitated.  She  feared  to  refuse  him,  in  the  excited 
state  in  which  he  evidently  was,  lest  he  might  perpetrate  his 
threat  of  taking  her  life  in  that  solitary  spot ;  she  resolved  to 
use  craft ;  and  though  in  her  heart  there  really  was  no  inten- 
tion of  ever  giving  herself  to  the  reckless-looking  being  before 
her,  she  replied, 

"  I  do  not  see  how  you  are  to  gain  independence  in  so  brief 
a  period ;  yet  I  will  not  refuse  the  pledge  you  ask.  If  you 
are  successful,  I  will  evade  my  mother's  authority,  and — "  she 
paused. 

"  And  marry  me  ?"  he  eagerly  added. 

"  Yes  —  and  marry  you,"  she  slowly  repeated,  as  if  the 
treacherous  words  were  reluctantly  wrung  from  her. 

"  Eureka !"  shouted  the  excited  Victor,  in  a  transport  of 
happiness,  as  violent  as  his  former  anguish  had  been.  "I 
shall  win  yet,  and  baffle  my  good  aunt  in  her  best  laid 
schemes." 

"  But  how  ?"  inquired  Louise,  with  interest.  "  I  do  not 
understand  how  this  sudden  independence  is  to  be  acquired." 

"It  is  a  secret  I  have  just  discovered  myself,"  he  myster- 
iously said.  "  It  would  be  as  valuable  to  me  as  the  philoso- 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  299 

pher's  stone,  if  I  could  continue  to  use  it ;  but  I  will  not  tempt 
fortune  too  far.  I  will  only  make  the  independence  I  referred 
to  and  then  abjure  it  forever." 

uBut  what  is  it?"  she  insisted,  with  irrepressible  curi- 
osity. 

Victor  drew  from  his  pocket  a  pack  of  cards,  and  dex- 
terously shuffled  them,  while  he  said, 

"I  have  puzzled  over  these  many  hours,  when  I  should 
have  been  sleeping ;  but  I  found  my  reward  at  last.  I  am 
certain  that  I  have  discovered  an  infallible  means  of  winning. 
See." 

And  he  placed  the  cards  in  certain  combinations  before 
her,  which  he  rapidly  explained ;  but  his  words  only  con- 
fused the  listener,  and  when  he  looked  up  triumphantly  and 


"  Will  not  that  be  simple  ?"  she  replied, 

"  Perhaps  so-^but  gambling  for  money  is  very  uncertain, 
as  you  have  already  proved." 

"  Yes — but  I  did  not  know  the  power  of  these  wonderful 
little  bits  of  paper,  then.  Now  I  can  turn  the  scale  of  fortune 
so  as  always  to  come  off  winner." 

"  I  hope  so,  Victor,"  said  Louise,  rising.  "  But  I  must  go 
— I  have  already  stayed  too  long.  It  will  be  quite  dark 
when  I  get  home,  and  ma  will  be  offended  with  me  for  remain- 
ing out  so  late." 

Victor  looked  on  the  rapidly  darkening  air,  and  reluctantly 
admitted  that  she  was  right.  He  again  took  her  hands  in 
that  iron  grasp,  and  held  them  firmly,  while  he  looked  into 
her  face. 


300 

"  Swear  to  be  true  to  me,  Louise,  by  all  your  hopes  of  hap- 
piness in  eternity,"  he  solemnly  said. 

Louise  inwardly  shrank  from  giving  such  a  pledge,  but  she 
dared  not  permit  him  to  see  her  indecision.  She  smiled 
charmingly,  and  said  in  her  softest  tone, 

"  Trust  me,  Victor ;  and  I  shall  love  you  a  thousand  times 
better  than  if  you  extorted  from  me  any  thing  so  unfeminine 
as  an  oath." 

Victor  was  subdued.     He  said, 

"I  will  trust  you,  Louise.  But  fail  me  at  your  peril; 
for  I  should  then  become  such  a  being  as  no  laws  may  bind." 

He  walked  beside  her  the  greater  part  of  the  way  back, 
talking  in  an  eager  and  excited  manner,  which  renewed  all 
her  uneasiness ;  and  when  he  bade  her  adieu  at  the  corner 
nearest  to  her  mother's  residence,  Louise  felt  as  if  a  great 
weight  was  lifted  from  her  heart ;  and  she  sped  rapidly 
toward  her  own  home.  A  servant  met  her  in  the  hall,  who 
said, 

"Mistress  has  been  inquiring  for  you  everywhere,  Miss 
Louise.  Mr.  Nevin  has  been  in  the  parlor  a  good  while." 

With  a  quickly  beating  heart  Louise  ran  up  to  her  own 
room,  and,  on  entering  it,  confronted  the  cold  and  angry  face 
of  her  mother.  She  said, 

"  "Where  have  you  been  staying  so  late  ?  It  is  quite  dark, 
and  there  is  company  already  waiting  for  you." 

"  I  know  it,  mother.     I  will  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  That  is  very  likely,  with  your  hair  in  this  condition. 
Where  on  earth  have  you  been,  to  get  your  curls  blown  out 
of  order  thus?" 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  301 

"Mother,"  replied  Louise,  hurriedly,  "I  might  deceive 
you,  but  I  will  not.  I  have  been  to  the  Catholic  cemetery,  to 
meet  my  cousin  Victor,  and  he  detained  me  till  nearly  night." 

Mrs.  Ruskin  looked  aghast  at  what  seemed  a  deliberate 
braving  of  her  authority.  Louise  took  advantage  of  her 
speechless  anger  to  go  on  rapidly, 

"  I  tell  you  this  now  that  you  may  at  the  same  time  learn 
that  all  is  at  an  end  between  us.  He  sent  me  such  letters 
that  I  was  afraid  to  refuse  the  meeting  he  demanded,  lest  he 
might  be  guilty  of  some  violence  toward  me.  The  letters  are 
in  that  drawer — you  can  read  them,  if  you  like.  I  have  seen 
him,  and  he  is  certainly  mad.  I  shall  write  to  my  uncle  to- 
morrow, and  describe  the  disguise  he  wears,  that  he  may  be 
secured,  and  taken  home.  Mother,  this  interview  was  neces- 
sary to  the  peace  of  my  own  mind.  I  am  now  convinced 
that  Victor  and  myself  could  never  be  happy  together,  and  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to — " 

She  paused,  and  her  cheek  slightly  paled,  as  the  conscious- 
ness of  her  own  great  treachery  to  the  heart  that  so  earnestly 
loved  her,  flashed  on  her  mind.  Her  mother  fully  under- 
stood what  was  not  expressed,  and  she  half-smiled  as  she 
said, 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  at  last  reasonable.  These  letters, 
over  which  I  have  scarcely  glanced,  I  see  are  clearly  the  pro- 
ductions of  insanity.  I  will  send  them  to  my  brother.  In 
the  meantime,  dress  yourself  most  becomingly,  while  I  go 
down  and  entertain  Mr.  Nevin  till  you  appear." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Louise  entered  the  room  in  which  they 
Bat,  attired  in  a  delicately  tinted  evening  dress,  and  looking 


302  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

most  bewitchingly  to  him  who  was  impatiently  awaiting  her. 
The  emotions  of  the  evening  had  sent  a  delicate  carnation  to 
her  cheek,  and  the  quick  pulsation  of  her  heart  gave  unusual 
brightness  to  her  fine  eyes.  The  flutter  of  spirits  excited  by 
her  interview  with  Victor,  imparted  softness  to  her  manner, 
and  Nevin  was  enchanted  with  her. 

Her  lover  seized  the  earliest  opportunity  offered  by  her 
mother's  absence  from  the  drawing-room,  to  express  his  ad- 
miration in  much  stronger  language  than  usual,  and  ended 
by  making  an  offer  of  his  heart  and  hand.  They  were  grace- 
fully but  decidedly  accepted  by  the  young  coquette,  who  pos- 
sessed tact  enough  to  comprehend  that  her  present  suitor 
would  tolerate  no  appearance  of  trifling.  She  must  speak  to 
the  point,  or  lose  him  for  ever. 

Between  a  tear  and  a  sigh  Louise  Ruskin  that  night  laid 
her  head  upon  her  pillow,  the  betrothed  bride  of  the  man 
concerning  whom  she  had  so  recently  reassured  Victor's  fears. 
She  could  not  sleep,  and  no  wonder.  "TaTegiveth  bis  beloved 
sleep,"  and  Louise  felt  this  night  as  if  utterly  God-forsaken. 

If  she  could  have  beheld  her  unhappy  cousin  during  those 
hours,  she  might  have  fancied  that  his  good  angel  was  at  her 
ear,  upbraiding  her  with  the  ruin  into  which  he  was  madly 
plunging,  in  the  forlorn  hope  of  winning  that  which  would 
tempt  her  to  remain  faithful  to  her  plighted  troth. 

When  Victor  left  Louise,  he  proceeded  at  once  to  his  room, 
and  collected  all  the  money  he  possessed.  It  was  not  a  large 
sum,  but  he  hoped  to  make  it  increase  as  magically  as  did  the 
coins  in  the  purse  of  Fortunatus.  On  this  evening,  he  had 
no  engagement  at  the  theatre,  and  he  hurried  at  once  to  the 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  303 

saloon,  to  try  the  new  trick  by  which  he  so  confidently  ex- 
pected to  win  back  all  he  had  lost. 

At  first,  his  most  sanguine  anticipations  were  realized.  He 
won,  he  doubled,  trebled,  quadrupled  his  bets,  and  still  the 
current  of  good  fortune  bore  him  onward.  Elated  by  this 
sudden  change,  he  went  on  wildly,  staking  any  sum  for  which 
he  could  gain  an  equivalent,  until  it  seemed  the  very  frenzy 
of  gambling. 

A  crowd  collected  around  the  table  to  observe  the  strange 
conduct  of  the  winner,  for  at  every  new  success,  he  uttered 
exclamations  of  wild  excitement.  Among  the  lookers-on, 
was  a  tall,  acute-looking  man,  who  was  evidently  not  a  South- 
erner. He  had  the  organ  of  calculation  largely  developed  on 
his  head  ;  and  as  he  looked  on  the  game,  he  gradually  com- 
prehended that  the  success  of  the  winner  was  based  on  a  cal- 
culation of  chances ;  he  also  saw  that  he  had  stopped  short 
of  that  point  which  must  insure  invariable  success. 
-  By  a  species  of  intuition,  he  saw  the  defective  spot,  and  the 
evil  genius  of  Victor  whispered  him  to  take  advantage  of  it. 
The  stranger  was  not  an  habitual  gambler,  though  he  knew 
many  games  accurately.  At  first,  he  bet  cautiously,  and  to 
the  surprise  of  the  bystanders,  the  tide  of  fortune  turned  at 
once  in  his  favor. 

He  increased  the  stake — again  he  won — again — again — and 
yet  again.  Becoming  excited  by  success,  he  plunged  at  last 
into  the  game  with  his  whole  soul,  and  the  wavering  bewild- 
ered being  opposed  to  him  was  no  match  for  him  either  in 
skill  or  coolness. 

Three  o'clock  rang  out  from  the  pendule  on  the  mantel, 
20 


304         THE  PLANTER  S  DAUGHTER. 

and  Victor  heard  it  as  the  knell  of  his  last  hope.  His  trick 
had  failed,  and  he  was  bankrupt.  In  moody  despair  he 
rushed  away,  and  sat  down  in  an  outer  room,  in  the  darkest 
corner,  behind  a  window-curtain.  There  he  remained  in  a 
species  of  stupor,  listening  vaguely  to  the  sounds  that  issued 
from  the  apartment  he  had  just  left,  and  wondering  if  the 
waters  of  the  Mississippi  were  very  cold  this  dismal  night. 
If  he  should  throw  himself  in  them  he  speculated  on  the 
chances  of  his  body  being  found,  and  identified,  and  thus  his 
sad  fate  becoming  known  to  his  family ;  or  whether  it  would 
be  swept  into  the  Gulf,  and  become  a  prey  to  the  sea  mon- 
sters which  infest  the  great  deep. 

As  Victor  thus  sat,  two  gentlemen,  unconscious  of  his 
vicinity,  placed  themselves  near  him,  and  resumed  a  conver- 
sation they  seemed  to  have  been  carrying  on.  One  said, 

"  The  death  of  Madame  Le  Grand,  will  doubtless  cause  the 
marriage  of  her  nephew  to  be  postponed." 

"Whom  does  he  marry?" 

"  Miss  Ruskin,  report  says :  and  I  rather  think  it  is  correct 
in  this  instance." 

"  0,  Nevin  is  only  a  grand  nephew,  and  he  will  scarcely 

?er  his  nuptials  on  that  account,  especially  where  so  uncer- 
tain a  coquette  as  Louise  Rnskin  is  the  bride-elect.  He  had 
better  take  her  while  she  is  in  the  humor." 

Victor's  attention  was  arrested,  and  he  listened  with 
clenched  hands  and  stifled  breath.  The  other  asked, 

"  Is  it  certain  that  he  has  serious  intentions  in  that  quar- 
ter ?  He  may  be  only  playing  the  young  lady's  own  game 
against  herself." 


def( 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      305 

"  O  no,  Nevin  has  a  large  bet  depending  on  his  union  with 
her  before  the  spring  is  half  over.  You  will  see  that  Mad- 
ame Le  Grand's  death  will  make  no  change  in  his  plans, 
although,  as  next  heir,  he  comes  in  for  the  greater  part  of 
her  handsome  estate." 

"  The  old  lady  had  better  have  left  her  diamonds  to  the 
pretty  bride-elect,  than  to  have  had  them  buried  with  her- 
self," remarked  one  of  the  speakers,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  am  credibly  informed  that  not  less  than  thirty  thousand 
dollars  worth  of  diamonds  of  the  finest  water,  are  entombed 
on  that  old  mummy.  If  I  were  Nevin,  I  would  have  her  dis- 
interred, and  remove  them.  It  is  the  most  horrible  mockery 
of  death  I  ever  heard  of." 

"  Not  he,  indeed.  Nevin  has  too  great  a  horror  of  death 
and  all  its  accompaniments,  to  touch  jewels  that  have  once 
lain  in  contact  with  the  perishing  remains  of  mortality. 
Besides,  rich  as  he  now  is,  of  what  consequence  are  the  thou- 
sands that  lie  entombed  with  the  old  anatomy  ?  These  dia- 
monds are  family  jewels  brought  from  France  by  her 
husband,  when  they  fled  from  the  horrors  of  the  Revolution 
there.  Hence  her  desire  to  lie  in  state  in  them,  even  in  her 
grave,  I  suppose." 

They  strolled  away,  and  Victor  remained  plunged  in  rev- 
erie ;  but  it  was  scarcely  less  terrible  than  that  which  had 
preceded  it.  The  turbid  waters  of  the  river  no  longer  rolled 
darkly  before  his  mental  vision ;  but  in  their  place,  arose  a 
solitary  grave-yard,  with  a  newly  made  tomb  within  it,  which 
skill  and  craft  might  enable  him  to  penetrate  without  detec- 
tion. The  sparkling  gems  that  were  hidden  away  there,  were 


306  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

useless  to  the  poor,  perishing  remnants  of  mortality  that  lay 
within ;  they  were  lost  to  those  who  had  a  legal  claim  on 
them ;  then  where  would  be  the  crime  of  restoring  them  to 
the  light  of  day  ?  especially  as,  by  so  doing,  he  could  rein- 
state himself  in  his  former  position,  and  snatch  the  woman 
he  adored,  from  his  rival. 

Victor  had  recently  endured  such  violent  mental  vicissi- 
tudes, that  his  mind  was  not  in  a  condition  to  make  very 
accurate  distinctions  between  wrong  and  right.  He  argued 
the  question  mentally,  always  leaning  to  the  side  that  prom- 
ised to  extricate  him  from  his  present  wretched  condition ; 
the  weak  are  always  open  to  temptation,  and  the  unhappy 
young  man  listened  to  its  voice,  until  he  had  no  accurate  per- 
ception of  right  left.  It  seemed  to  him  but  a  choice  between 
suicide  and  the  desecration  of  the  tomb  of  the  dead ;  and  in 
his  madness  he  half  believed  that  Providence  had  thrown 
this  temptation  in  his  way,  to  save  him  from  the  greater  guilt 
of  self-destruction. 

The  plantation  of  the  deceased  woman  was  only  a  few 
miles  below  that  of  his  father,  and  he  had  several  times  vis- 
ited the  place  in  company  with  Nevin,  before  the  rivalry 
between  them  with  Louise,  grew  up.  A  Catholic  church  was 
in  the  vicinity,  with  a  rural  cemetery  surrounding  it ;  and  be 
knew  well  the  square  of  ground  in  it  belonging  to  the  Le 
Grand  family.  Suspicion  could  never  light  on  him,  even  if 
the  desecration  was  discovered ;  and  in  after  years  when  the 
cloud  which  now  shaded  the  fortunes  of  his  family  had 
cleared  away,  he  would  anonymously  return  the  money  ob- 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      307 

tained  from  the  sale  of  the  diamonds,  with  interest  from  the 
time  they  came  into  his  possession. 

Thus,  in  fact,  he  would  only  be  taking  a  temporary  loan 
from  his  enemy,  with  which  to  baffle  his  ho£es,  and  win  his 
chosen  bride.  What  had  been  asserted  of  the  approaching 
marriage  of  Louise  with  Kevin  was  only  the  common  gos- 
sip of  the  town  ;  and  after  her  late  assurances  of  good  faith 
to  himself,  he  attached  no  importance  to  them. 

At  length  Victor  arose  with  a  feeling  of  desperate  resolve  ; 
he  took  from  his  shirt  bosom  a  valuable  pin,  which  he  had 
not  parted  from  when  he  sold  the  remainder  of  his  ornaments, 
and  going  into  the  next  apartment,  he  spoke  mysteriously 
with  the  proprietor  of  the  rooms.  The  result  was,  that  the 
man  gave  him  a  small  sum  of  money,  in  exchange  for  it,  and 
with  this,  Victor  Harrington  left  New  Orleans  that  morning 
on  his  terrible  errand. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

SPRING  had  opened  at  Wavertree,  and  with  it  caine  om- 
inous fears  of  an  overflow  in  the  sweeping  current  which 
came  whirling  down,  day  after  day,  a  mass  of  driftwood  and 
turbid  water,  whose  volume  increased  from  hour  to  hour  with 
fearful  rapidity. 

The  fall  and  early  portion  of  the  winter  season  had  been 
unusually  dry  in  that  vast  region  watered  by  the  Mississippi 
and  its  tributaries.  Then  set  in  heavy  and  long-continued 
rains,  and  among  the  mountainous  regions  in  which  the  Mis- 
souri, Arkansas,  and  Red  rivers  have  their  origin,  there  was  a 
simultaneous  breaking-up  of  the  accumulated  masses  of  snow 
and  ice. 

As  the  steamers  from  above  landed  at  a  neighboring  wood- 
yard,  to  obtain  fresh  supplies  of  fuel,  those  upon  them  gave 
the  most  disastrous  accounts  of  the  country  through  which 
they  had  passed.  Many  plantations  were  already  overflowed, 
where  no  levees  existed,  or  where  they  were  too  small  to  pro- 
tect from  the  flood. 

Wavertree  was  situated  in  a  bend  of  the  river,  and  the 
formation  of  a  sand-bar  on  a  point  of  land  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  stream  a  few  miles  above,  had  within  the  few  past 
years  given  Mr.  Harrington  much  uneasiness.  He  feared 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  309 

that  the  course  of  the  current  would  thus  be  changed,  and 
its  whole  force  be  thrown  upon  his  plantation.  That  his  fears 
were  not  groundless,  was  soon  proved  by  several  land-slides, 
which  approached  during  the  past  season,  to  within  twenty 
feet  of  the  substantial  levee  covered  with  thickly  matted 
grass,  which  had  long  protected  the  low  coast  from  the  in- 
roads of  the  river. 

The  levee  was  apparently  as  solid  as  ever,  but  Mr.  Harring- 
ton did  not  feel  quite  secure,  and  the  embankment  was 
strengthened  in  every  possible  manner  that  skill  and  in- 
genuity could  devise.  That  these  precautions  were  not  use- 
less was  evident,  as  the  advancing  water  gained  upon  it ;  and 
soon  every  soul  on  the  plantation  learned  to  look  with  appre- 
hension on  the  approach  of  the  steamers  that  almost  hourly 
plowed  their  way  up  or  down  the  eddying  current ;  for  the 
waters  had  now  risen  so  high  that  the  dashing  of  the  paddle- 
wheels  sent  the  waves  over  the  levee,  and  often,  in  places,  it 
seemed  to  quiver  from  the  shock. 

To  strengthen  these  spots  from  within  was  now  the  only 
resource,  and  the  other  plantation  labor  was  suspended  to 
avert,  to  the  planter,  the  most  dreaded  of  all  calamities,  a  cre- 
vasse. During  this  time  of  apprehension,  Evelyn's  skill  as  an 
engineer  was  of  incalculable  service  to  Mr.  Harrington.  The 
whole  day,  and  frequently  a  portion  of  the  night,  was  spent 
by  both  gentlemen  in  superintending  the  labor  of  the  slaves. 
These  also  worked  with  good  will  when  they  beheld  the  gray 
hair  of  their  kind  master  floating  in  the  winds  that  swept  o*er 
them,  and  saw  the  additional  wrinkles  which  the  cares  of 
the  past  year  had  stamped  upon  his  features.  They  also  , 


310 

\  labored  for  the  preservation  of  their  own  cabins,  their  flour- 

V  ishing  gardens,  and   their   poultry-houses  from  destruction. 

\iTo  them  too  it  was  home,  and  all  the  local  attachments  the 

most  of  them  had  known,  clung  around  this  spot.     Nearly 

the  whole  of  the  elder  slaves  had  belonged  to  the  place  when 

it  was  purchased  by  Mr.  Harrington,  and  all  the  younger  and 

imore  valuable  portion  of   them,  had  been  reared  under  bis 

kindly  rule. 

They  were  warmly  attached  to  their  master  and  his  chil- 
dren, and  each  individual  one  was  as  proud  of  the  grace  and 
elegance  of  the  two  young  ladies  as  if  they  had  been  allied  to 
them  by  ties  of  blood.  To  a  faithful  slave,  the  children  of 
the  white  family  are  as  dear  as  their  own  ;  and  to  those  chil- 
dren they  unhesitatingly  appeal  in  cases  of  difficulty,  when 
they  have  passed  into  their  possession  ;  confident  that  the 
plea  of  being  family  negroes  is  an  all-sufficient  one  to  entitle 
them  to  forbearance.  Nor  is  it  often  done  in  vain.  "  He 
served  my  father,"  covers  a  multitude  of  sins  of  omission  and 
of  commission. 

While  affairs  proceeded  thus  actively  without,  a  kind  of 
dreamy  quiet  seemed  to  have  settled  over  the  inmates  of 
the  mansion.  Occupied  with  her  own  sweet  fancies,  Adele's 
soft  low  voice  might  be  often  heard  murmuring  such  snatches 
ol  simple  ballad  music  as  were  most  filled  with  tender  and 
delicate  beauty.  The  new  happiness  which  flooded  her  be- 
ing thus  found  utterence  ;  though  she  checked  her  glad  song 
instantly,  if  she  chanced  to  look  up  and  catch  sight  of  her 
sister.  It  seemed,  to  her  sympathetic  heart,  cruel  to  suffer 
Pauline  to  have  even  a  glimpse  of  the  beautiful  Eden  that 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  311 

had  lately  blossomed  in  her  own  heart,  when  her  future  lay 
before  her  a  desert  waste. 

Pauline  was  still,  an  invalid  ;  she  did  not  appear  to  possess 
sufficient  energy  to  arouse  herself  from  the  lifeless  dejection 
in  which  her  long  illness  had  left  her.  She  sat  for  hours 
alone,  leaning  back  in  a  large  chair  with  her  hands  folded  on 
each  other,  white  and  lifeless-looking ;  with  eyes  closed,  to 
shut  out  the  glad  sunshine  which  seemed  as  a  bitter  mockery 
to  her  cheerless  heart.  She  forgot  how  much  she  had  once 
enjoyed  its  brilliancy — and  almost  peevishly  wondered  why 
God  had  made  the  earth  so  fair,  when  the  being  he  had 
created  in  his  own  image  was  so  imperfect,  so  false,  as  men 
often  proved  themselves. 

The  only  pleasure  she  seemed  to  enjoy  was  lying  at  night 
where  she  could  behold  the  star-lit  sky.  The  hammock 
which  swung  in  one  corner  of  the  piazza  was  her  chosen 
place  of  rest,  from  the  time  the  sun  disappeared  until  a  late 
hour  of  the  night.  From  her  position  there  a  clear  open 
space  of  the  blue  concave  above  was  visible,  with  its  bright 
orbs  gleaming  from  the  lucid  depths  of  *ether  ;  and  often  did 
she  pine  for  the  wings  of  the  seraph  to  flee  away  to  one  of 
these,  and  leave  to  earth  and  its  unsatisfactory  destinies,  all 
memory  of  the  sorrow  that  oppressed  her  being. 

Miss  Gertrude  had  vainly  endeavored  to  win  her  attention 
to  such  employments  as  had  formerly  interested  her;  the 
sick  heart  recoiled  from  all  that  had  once  afforded  pleasure, 
and  Pauline  believed  that  length  of  days  was  only  granted 
her  that  she  might  more  perfectly  prepare  for  the  great 
change  awaiting  all  of  mortal  birth.  With  this  impression, 


312  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

she  confined  her  reading  almost  exclusively  to  the  Scriptures 
and  their  commentaries,  and  she  endeavored  to  meditate  on 
the  divine  Mediator,  who  came  to  redeem  humanity  from  its 
burden  of  woe  and  sin.  But  alas !  the  thorn-crowned  head 
of  that  majestic  One,  was  often  misplaced  by  the  human  one 
of  him  who  had  cruelly  reduced  her  to  her  present  state  of 
hopeless  dejection ;  and  she  daily  more  deeply  despised  her- 
self for  still  regretting  the  loss  of  one  who  had  shown  himself 
so  reckless  of  her  happiness. 

Nothing  was  heard  of  Malcolm.  He  seemed  to  have  drop- 
ped as  completely  out  of  their  world,  as  if  death  had  removed 
him,  and  his  name  was  tacitly  avoided  in  the  family.  With 
the  morbid  restlessness  that  consumed  her  heart,  Pauline 
pined  to  hear  something — any  thing,  from  him.  Even  the 
echo  of  his  name,  she  fancied,  might  soothe  her  irritated  spir- 
its, and  she  wondered  why  they  would  never  pronounce  it 
before  her. 

Did  they  know  where  he  was,  and  purposely  refrain  .from 
telling  her  ?  Why  should  that  be  ?  the  evil  was  perpetrated 
now,  and  surely  they  could  not  imagine  that  the  sound  of  a 
name  could  injure  her.  Perhaps  he  already  sought  another 
— and  the  fierce  pang  this  thought  gave  her  poor  heart,  told 
its  own  tale  of  unrepressed  anguish  and  deathless  love.  The 
rivalry  between  herself  and  her  sister,  seemed  as  a  vague 
dream"  now,  and  she  thought  of  Malcolm  as  one  who  had 
grown  indifferent  to  the  love  he  had  won  merely  through 
caprice. 

Alarmed  by  her  slow  convalescence,  her  father  again  con- 
sulted Dr.  Germain.  He  gave  it  as  his  opinion,  that  change 


313 

of  scene,  and  such  gentle  excitements  as  she  could  bear, 
would  be  the  best  restoratives.  To  this,  Pauline  would  not 
listen  ;  firmly  impressed  with  the  belief  that  the  physician 
only  sent  her  from  her  home  to  die  far  away  from  the  be- 
loved scenes  which  surrounded  her,  she  positively  refused  to 
leave  Wavertree,  even  for  a  day. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  more,"  said  the  doctor,  gravely.  "  I 
have  already  tried  every  tonic  in  my  pharmacopoeia,  and  all 
have  failed.  There  is  but  one  chance  left.  She  has  strong 
affections :  induce  her  to  believe  that  some  one  she  loves  is 
suffering,  is  threatened  with  danger — that  may  arouse  her 
sympathies,  and  thus  act  on  the  stagnant  mind,  for  I  need 
scarcely  tell  you  that  it  is  the  mind  which  is  preying  on  the 
physical  system." 

"  Her  restoration  must  then  be  purchased  by  some  real  dis- 
aster," replied  her  father,  gloomily.  "I  can  not  consent  to 
practice  any  deception  upon  her,  for  if  detected,  the  reaction 
might  be  worse  than  her  present  condition." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  in  this  case  the  experiment  would  not 
be  excusable.  Your  son  is  absent— -can  you  not  induce  her 
to  visit  New  Orleans,  under  the  plea  of  se'eing  him  during  an 
illness  ?" 

Mr.  Harrington's  face  clouded,  and  he  evasively  replied, 

"  I  do  not  think  that  my  son  is  at  present  in  the  city ;  and 
Pauline  believes  he  is  traveling  for  his  health.  Thus,  no  de- 
ception can  pass  undetected  in  that  quarter." 

Such  had  been  the  belief  impressed  on  Pauline's  mind,  for 
her  father  considered  it  dangerous  to  let  her  know  the  actual 
truth  concerning  Victor ;  this  heavy  burden  was  confined  to 


314  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

his  own  heart,  aud  not  one  of  the  family  was  aware  of  the 
real  position  of  the  young  man.  Mr.  Harrington  watched 
for  news  from  his  truant  son,  from  day  to  day,  with  a.  solici- 
tude that  frequently  amounted  to  anguish  ;  but  for  many 
weeks  after  his  departure,  nothing  definite  arrived. 

At  length  a  letter  from  Louise  came,  inclosed  in  one  from 
her  mother,  in  which  they  described  the  condition  of  Victor 
as  that  of  incipient  madness.  Mr.  Harrington  would  have 
left  home  at  once  in  pursuit  of  him,  had  it  been  possible  to 
do  so  ;  but  the  threatening  appearance  of  the  river,  rendered 
it  imminently  necessary  to  ship  the  crop  which  had  been  pre- 
pared for  market,  and  he  could  only  write  to  such  friends  in 
the  city  as  would  take  an  interest  in  discovering  the  unhappy 
youth,  and  restoring  him  to  his  family. 

During  this  season  of  dread,  his  mind  was  often  in  such  a 
condition  as  almost  to  unfit  him  for  any  labor.  There  were 
hours  in  which  his  overwrought  spirit  seemed  as  if  it  must 
give  way;  that  the  unnatural  tension  which  sustained  him 
must  suddenly  snap  and  give  him  that  everlasting  rest  which 
it  often  seemed  to  him  an  eternity  of  peace  would  be  neces- 
sary to  bestow  on  liis  strained  mind. 

In  all  this  troubled  time,  his  restless  slumbers  were  filled 
with  dreams,  and  night  after  night  his  angel  wife  seemed  to 
hover  near  him,  and  beckon  him  to  herself.  But  for  the 
children  she  had  left  him,  how  gladly  would  he  have  laid 
aside  the  cares  of  mortality,  and  joined  her  "  where  sorrows 
cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weaiy  are  at  rest."  But  to  his 
heart,  these  were  precious  beyond  expression,  and  he  knew 


THE  PLANTER  S  DAUGHTER.         315 

that  his  own  death,  in  the  present  condition  of  his  affairs, 
would  leave  them  nearly  unprovided  for. 

In  this  time  of  trial,  the  energy,  tact,  and  sympathy  of  his 
young  guest,  were  invaluable  to  him.  Evelyn  assisted  him 
in  every  manner,  and  endeavored  to  shield  him,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, from  the  too  great  pressure  of  care.  In  their  few  inter- 
vals of  quiet,  he  led  the  conversation  to  such  topics  as 
insensibly  raised  his  mind  to  higher  subjects  of  thought  than 
the  mere  earthly  interests  that  encompassed  him.  It  seemed 
to  the  worn  man,  like  breathing  a  purer  and  brighter  atmos- 
phere for  a  few  moments,  which  strengthened  him  anew  for 
the  conflict. 

One  evening,  toward  the  latter  part  of  April,  all  the  family 
were  assembled  on  the  front  piazza,  wistfully  regarding  the 
vast  flood  which  rolled  past,  now  within  a  few  inches  of  the 
top  of  the  levee.  The  river  had  been  stationary  for  the  last 
twenty-four  hours,  and  hopes  began  to  dawn  that  it  would 
soon  begin  to  subside. 

The  negroes  were  at  work  on  a  portion  of  the  embank- 
ment, about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  above  the  house,  which, 
•within  the  last  few  days,  had  betrayed  symptoms  of  giving 
way.  They  sang  as  they  labored  at  their  task,  and  the  wild 
chorus  was  borne  toward  them  by  the  evening  breeze,  in 
snatches  of  melody ;  for  time  and  tune  are  seldom  denied  to 
the  negro  race,  arid  in  the  open  air  their  voices  often  have  a 
fine  effect. 

Mr.  Harrington  sighed  as  he  listened. 

"  Poor  fellows !"  he  said,  "  how  merrily  they  can  sing,  even 
with  such  a  misfortune  threatening  them  as  the  loss  of  home 


316  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

must  be,  even  to  a  slave.  I  wish  I  could  take  things  thus 
lightly." 

Before  this  remark,  Pauline  had  been  gazing  iu  her  usual 
listless  manner  upon  the  scene ;  but  the  words  of  her  father 
seemed  to  strike  a  painful  chord,  and,  for  the  first  time  for 
many  long  weeks,  a  faint  shade  of  crimson  swept  over  her 
cheek.  She  looked  earnestly  at  him,  and  asked  with  in- 
terest, 

"  Do  you  apprehend  any  danger,  father  ?" 

"  Look  at  yonder  flood,  my  child  ;  see  how  angrily  it 
lashes  the  frail  barrier  of  earth  we  can  interpose  to  stay  its 
might,  and  judge  for  yourself.  I  sometimes  wonder  that  it 
has  not  long  ago  been  swept  away  by  the  force  of  the  cur- 
rent. To-night  I  shall  have  strict  watch  kept;  for  the 
greatest  danger  of  a  crevasse  is  when  the  flood  begins  to 
subside." 

Pauline  arose,  and  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  looked 
out  on  the  wide  sweep  of  arrowy  water,  in  which  the  angry 
clouds  of  a  stormy  sunset  were  mirrored. 

"  And  there  is  really  danger  that  our  beautiful  home  will 
be  wrecked  by  the  flood  ?"  she  asked. 

"  There  is,  my  daughter ;  I  almost  reproach  myself  with 
this  brief  interval  of  rest  I  allow  my  wearied  frame,  when  I 
know  that  on  the  next  few  hours  hangs  our  safety." 

"  And  I  have  been  so  self-absorbed  I  have  not  heeded  this 
danger,"  she  sorrowfully  said.  "  I  knew  that  you  were  much 
away,  and  you  often  seemed  harassed ;  but  I  was  too  selfish  to 
heed  it.  Dearest  father,  forgive  me,  for  I  know  that  the  state 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  317 

of  my  mind  must  have  added  to  all  the  other  cares  you  have 
to  bear." 

She  went  up  to  him,  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and 
earnestly  looked  into  his  eyes,  as  she  thus  appealed  to  him. 
Mr.  Harrington  feelingly  said, 

"  If  I  could  see  you  arouse  yourself  from  the  deadly  apathy 
that  is  destroying  you,  Pauline,  the  heaviest  cause  of  suffering 
would  be  removed  from  my  heart.     Other  cares  I  can  bear,    • 
but  this  crushes  me." 

"  Poor  father — I  will  try,  and  you  shall  see  how  brave  I 
will  be,"  murmured  Pauline,  tenderly  kissing  him.  "But 
tell  me— in  the  event  of  a  crevasse,  will  it  not  be  dangerous 
to  remain  here  ?  Should  the  levee  break,  where  the  negroes 
are  at  work,  the  whole  force  of  the  torrent  will  be  thrown 
against  the  house,  and  we  might  all  be  swept  away." 

"  I  trust  in  God  that  it  will  not  break.     Evelyn  and  myself 
have  consulted  on  this  danger,  and  we  have  concluded  that 
the  risk  is  not  sufficiently  great  to  render  a  removal  neces 
sary." 

Thus  reassured,  Pauline  sank  back  on  her  seat,  but  her 
mind  was  thoroughly  aroused  to  a  keen  interest  in  what  was 
passing  around  her.  A  storm  was  evidently  gathering,  for 
the  dark  clouds  toward  sunset,  were,  every  few  seconds,  rent 
by  flashes  of  vivid  lightning,  and  the  muttering  thunder  ap- 
proached gradually  nearer  and  nearer,  until  it  rolled  in  inces- 
sant peals  above  tbeir  heads. 

An  ominous  stillness  pervaded  the  atmosphere,  soon,  they 
well  knew,  to  be  wildly  interrupted  ;  and  the  two  gentlemen 
gazed  with  deep  solicitude  on  those  evidences  of  Nature's  ap- 


318  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

preaching  strife.  The  servants  were  heard  hurriedly  closing 
the  windows  and  doors  against  the  coming  storm,  and  the 
party  on  the  levee  sought  a  shelter  iroin  its  anticipated 
violence ;  while  those  on  the  piazza  retreated  to  the  par- 
lor opening  on  that  side  of  the  house,  leaving  the  door 
unclosed,  through  which  to  behold  the  ^  rst  burst  of  the 
tempest. 

Presently  a  faint,  low  breath  came  quivering  through  the 
leaves,  as  if  they  had  only  now  awakened  to  a  sense  of  the 
brooding  storm  ;  then,  almost  before  the  eye  saw  their  trem- 
bling, a  wild  wail  swept  around  the  house,  and  two  beautiful 
crape  myrtle-trees  in  full  blossom,  that  stood  in  front  of  it, 
were  snapped  off  within  a  few  feet  of  the  earth,  and  their 
crushed  branches  whirled  aloft,  the  sport  of  the  counter  cur- 
rents of  air  that  appeared  to  meet  on  the  spot.  Branches 
from  the  other  trees  were  torn  away,  and  mingled  with  them, 
by  the  fierce  blast  that  seemed  to  shake  the  very  earth.  The 
house  began  to  reel,  as  though  an  earthquake  were  upheav- 
ing its  foundations,  and  vainly  did  Mr.  Harrington,  aided  by 
Evelyn,  endeavor  to  close  the  door. 

No  common  storm  was  this  they  now  saw ;  for  a  tornado  had 
evidently  burst  over  the  doomed  place.  Finding  it  impossi- 
ble to  shut  the  door,  they  hurriedly  called  on  those  around 
them  to  seek  the  hall,  as  the  shorter  beams  across  the  ceiling 
rendered  that  the  safest  place  of  refuge. 

"  The  lower  story  will  be  safer  yet,"  suggested  Miss  Ger- 
trude, as  they  hastened  to  the  spot  indicated. 

"But  should  the  levee  break,  we  might  not  have  time  to 
save  ourselves  from  the  flood."  replied  Evelyn. 


319 

In  the  more  imminent  danger  she  Lad  forgotten  that,  and 
she  silently  sat  down  in  the  hall  with  her  trembling  nieces 
beside  her. 

The  whole  party  was  scarcely  safe  within  its  shelter,  when 
the  floor  of  the  room  they  had  left  was  rent  in  twain  in  the 
centre,  by  the  resistless  force  of  the  wind.  At  this  crisis,  the 
servants  kept  about  the  establishment,  came  rushing  in  with 
loud  cries  of  terror,  and  wildly  wringing  their  hands. 

The  efforts  of  the  white  family  to  soothe  their  fears,  were 
fearfully  interrupted  by  a  sudden  blast  more  furious  than  the 
first,  and  the  roof  was  lifted  from  the  house,  and  whirled  into 
the  yard,  leaving  the  blinding  torrent  of  rain  to  pour  through 
the  tottering  walls.  Afraid  to  descend  to  the  lower  story, 
there  was  no  resource  but  to  abide  the  issue  as  firmly  as  they 
might. 

At  this  crisis,  the  cries  of  the  negroes  reached  a  wild  pitch, 
and  the  others  endeavored  to  stifle  their  own  thrilling  fears  to 
reason  with,  and  attempt  to  restore  them  to  some  degree  of  \ 
calmness.  It  was  useless — like  frightened  animals,  they 
seemed  incapable  of  listening  to  words  either  of  entreaty  or\ 
command ;  when  suddenly  the  clear  musical  voice  of  Evelyn 
was  heard  above  the  uproar,  saying, 

"  Let  us  pray  :  God  alone  can  help  us  in  such  extremity  as 
this." 

There  was  a  tone  of  authority  in  it  which  produced  a  per- 
ceptible lull  in  the  tempest  of  human  sounds  around  him  ; 
and  after  the  first  few  sentences  he  uttered,  each  voice  sunk 
into  quietness  as  its  owner  followed  the  earnest  supplications 
of  him  who  invoked  the  mercy  of  that  power  which  could 


320      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

alone  stay  the  raging  storm  that  threatened  their  destruction. 
Dense  darkness,  only  broken  by  the  vivid  lightning  that 
hurtled  through  the  inky  clouds,  had  settled  over  them, 
adding  to  the  horrors  of  the  scene. 

By  this  fitful  and  lurid  light,  Adele  looked  on  the  pale 
face  of  her  lover,  turned  devoutly  toward  heaven,  and  thought 
that  inspiration  was  surely  in  the  beautiful  expression  of 
almost  divine  calm  it  wore  amid  the  uproar  around  him. 
That  he  "  possessed  his  soul  in  peace,"  was  evident  to  her, 
even  at  such  a  fearful  crisis,  and  the  certainty  came  to  her 
i  then  and  there,  that  inexpressible  love  and  respect  for  Philip 
Evelyn  dwelt  in  her  heart. 

The  excited  negroes  crouched  down  as  near  together  as 
possible,  and  only  a  few  faint  sobs  interrupted  the  young 
man's  appeal  for  mercy.  At  length  he  arose,  and  looked  out 
on  the  darkened  sky  and  deluged  earth. 

For  the  last  few  moments  there  had  been  a  lull  in  the 
storm,  but  he  feared  it  was  only  gathering  new  force  to  pur- 
sue its  devastations. 

Mr.  Harrington  stood  beside  a  window  which  the  force  of 
the  blast  had  torn  open;  it  looked  toward  the  river,  and 
Evelyn  approached  him  and  awaited  the  next  flash  of  light, 
as  he  gazed  fearfully  toward  that  portion  of  the  levee  which 
had  lately  shown  signs  of  giving  way. 

A  deep  pall  of  darkness  had  gathered  over  the  earth,  and 
he  stood  in  inexpressible  solicitude  for  the  space  of  a  minute, 
before  the  gloom  was  rent  by  a  flash  of  electric  fire  that 
quivered  in  lines  of  ghastly  brightness  over  the  dense  clouds ; 
tb\ey  afforded  a  brief  glimpse  of  the  angry  torrent,  lashed  into 


321 

foam  by  the  fury  of  the  winds,  and  the  levee  seemed  rising 
and  falling  with  the  motion  of  the  current. 

During  the  awful  interval  of  darkness  that  followed  this 
brief  illumination,  Mr.  Harrington  leaned  against  the  wall, 
and  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  wildly  throbbing  heart,  to 
endeavor  to  stifle  the  suffocating  sensation  which  oppressed 
him.  He  waited  in  breathless  suspense  for  another  glimpse 
of  what  was  passing  without. 

It  came — and  with  it,  a  sound  as  if  the  very  foundations  of 
the  great  deep  were  broken  up.  A  wild  torrent  poured  against 
the  rocking  walls  of  the  house,  and  each  one  in  it  gave  up  all 
for  lost. 

"  A  crevasse !  a  crevasse !"  shouted  the  negroes,  lashed 
anew  into  the  wildest  fear.  "My  God — my  God  have  mercy 
upon  us,"  and  mingled  cries  and  prayers  arose  on  the  dark- 
ness. 

"  The  worst  has  happened,"  said  a  voice  so  broken  and 
feeble  that  it  startled  even  the  speaker.  "My  children, 
draw  near  to  me;  let  us  perish  together,  if  die  we  must. 
Come,  Evelyn — come,  my  sister." 

In  the  dense  gloom,  they  drew  nearer,  over  the  trembling 
floor,  and  as  they  surrounded  him,  the  stricken  father  sunk  j 
down  in  another  of  those  terrible  attacks  of  insensibility  / 
which  had  already  so  greatly  alarmed  them. 

"  My  father  is  dying,"  exclaimed  Pauline,  roused  at  once  to 
assume  the  ascendancy  which  had  been  hers  before  her  ill- 
ness. "Sustain  his  head,  Aunt  Gertrude,  and  you,  Adele, 
warm  his  hands  in  yours,  while  I  seek  some  means  of  restor- 
ing him." 

14* 


322  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  You  are  not  able,  sister ;  let  me  go,"  said  the  trembling 
Adele,  but  Pauline  firmly  said, 

"  Remain  where  you  are,  dear  Adele.  I  know  where  I  can 
find  a  restorative  that  you  would  have  to  search  for.  At  all 
events  it  is  worth  the  risk  of  seeking." 

There  was  a  decision  in  her  tones  which  admitted  of  no 
appeal ;  and  placing  her  hand  against  the  wall,  as  a  guide  in 
the  darkness  that  closed  around  them  in  the  intervals  between 
the  flashes  of  lightning,  she  glided  over  the  unsteady  floor, 
until  she  gained  the  farthest  end  of  the  hall,  where  a  door 
opened  into  a  back  parlor,  from  which  there  was  a  communi- 
cation with  her  own  room. 

When  she  reached  the  threshold,  she  was  compelled  to 
pause  and  wait  for  the  next  glare  to  illuminate  the  ruin,  that 
she  might  ascertain  if  the  floor  offered  a  secure  footing.  It 
came,  and  was  gone  so  quickly  that  nothing  was  distinctly 
revealed ;  but  the  floor  showed  no  visible  rent,  and  she 
resolved  to  trust  herself  to  its  stability.  She  could  but  lose 
life  in  the  attempt  to  serve  her  father,  and  it  was  now  a  pos- 
session she  valued  chiefly  on  his  account. 

With  light  and  cautious  tread,  she  moved  over  the  quiver- 
ing floor,  and  safely  reached  the  opposite  side ;  an  open  door 
stood  before  her,  and  a  few  more  steps  brought  her  to  the 
entrance  of  her  own  chamber.  By  this  time  the  fury  of  the 
storm  had  sunk  into  a  low  sobbing  sound,  as  if  Nature 
mourned  over  the  devastations  she  had  committed,  and  the 
air  was  filled  with  momentary  gleams  of  electricity,  which 
cast  a  wan  and  weird  light  on  the  ruin  that  met  her  view. 

The  wind  seemed  to  have  spent  its  fury  on  that  side  of  the 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  323 

house,  for  the  wall  was  torn  partially  away,  and  the  beautiful 
furniture  lay  crushed  among  fragments  of  wood  and  plaster. 
Pauline  saw  that  her  quest  was  hopeless,  and  she  turned  back 
discouraged  and  heart-sick.  To  reach  the  rest  of  the  house- 
hold was  now  her  first  wish,  and  without  pause,  she  carefully 
retraced  her  steps,  and  soon  stood  in  safety  in  the  hall. 

It  occurred  to  Pauline  that  the  opposite  side  of  the  mansion 
had  not,  in  all  probability,  suffered  so  much.  In  that,  was 
the  library,  and  she  nervously  opened  a  door  leading  into  it. 
To  her  great  joy,  she  saw  that  a  portion  of  the  roof  still 
sheltered  more  than  half  its  extent — she  stepped  in,  and 
found  that  the  floor  seemed  firm  beneath  her  tread.  At  the 
upper  end,  there  was  another  door  which  opened  close  behind 
the  spot  on  which  her  father  lay,  and  with  the  joyful  hope 
that  they  might  all  be  saved,  she  sped  lightly  toward  it. 
Speaking  rapidly  as  she  unclosed  it,  Pauline  said, 

"  There  is  safety  here,  Cousin  Philip.  A  few  steps,  and 
my  father  can  be  placed  under  shelter." 

Evelyn  arose  from  his  kneeling  position  beside  Mr.  Har- 
rington, and  quickly  joined  her.  He  remembered  that  a 
small  closet  was  in  the  wall  in  an  angle  made  by  the  fire- 
place, in  which  a  reading-lamp  and  matches  were  always 
kept.  With  that  quick  intuition  of  what  is  best  to  be  done, 
which  is  invaluable  in  time  of  danger,  he  sought  the  shel- 
tered nook,  and  after  groping  about  a  few  moments,  found 
the  box  of  matches,  and  succeeded  in  lighting  the  lamp. 

The  faint  rays  it  sent  through  the  open  door  into  the  hall,  / 
gave  courage  to  the  servants  to  obey  the  commands  of  their  ' 
young  mistress.  At  first,  they  moved  slowly  and  crouch- 


324      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

ingly  forward,  afraid  that  the  tottering  floor  would  fail 
beneath  them.  Two  of  the  strongest  men  raised  Mr.  Har- 
rington, and  with  his  head  still  supported  in  the  arms  of  his 
sister,  they  cautiously  bore  him  within  the  library,  and  placed 
him  on  a  lounge  at  the  further  end.  The  others  followed, 
and  a  melancholy  group  gathered  around  the  insensible  man. 

Evelyn  knew  that  bleeding  copiously  afforded  the  only 
chance  of  recovery  for  him,  and  he  endeavored  to  use  his  pen- 
knife as  a  lancet.  The  stagnant  blood  refused  to  flow,  and 
the  heavy  breathing  that  filled  the  room  with  its  ominous 
sounds,  caused  those  who  heard  it  to  shiver  with  dread. 

While  these  efforts  to  restore  sensibility  were  made,  the 
storm  had  exhausted  its  violence,  and  the  gray  clouds  were 
sailing  overhead  in  vapory  masses,  affording  occasional 
glimpses  of  the  full  moon  and  the  quiet  stars.  Gradually 
these  were  swept  away,  and  the  blue  dome  of  heaven,  in  its 
silent  majesty,  looked  down  on  the  scene  of  ruin  and  suffer- 
ing left  by  the  wild  career  of  the  tempest. 

Now  that  the  wind  had  ceased  its  uproar,  and  the  dashing 
of  the  rain  was  hushed,  sounds  of  human  suffering  came  to 
those  who  were  powerless  to  assist  those  who  uttered  them. 
Cries  for  help  came  from  the  quarter  occupied  by  the 
negroes ;  and  the  various  mournful  and  terrible  sounds  ut- 
tered by  cattle  when  in  danger,  made  a  discordant  wail  of  dis- 
tress, which  his  children  almost  rejoiced  that  Mr.  Harrington 
could  not  hear. 

Evelyn  left  the  side  of  his  old  friend  and  went  to  a  window 
which  afforded  a  view  of  the  plantation.  The  whole  surface 
of  the  earth  was  covered  with  the  flood,  and  every  tree  and 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  325 

shrub  that  might  have  risen  above  its  level  seemed  to  have 
been  torn  away  by  the  tornado.  A  wild  waste  of  turbid 
water  now  occupied  the  place  of  the  cane-fields,  so  lately 
flourishing  with  verdant  beauty  ;  and  this  was  dotted  by  dark 
objects  he  knew  to  be  the  cabins  of  the  negroes.  In  the 
bright  moonlight  he  could  see  figures  on  their  roofs,  and  he 
fervently  prayed  that  none  might  perish  in  this  awful  season 
of  calamity. 

To  wait  until  morning  brought  assistance  was  the  only  re- 
source, for  he  knew  that  the  water  below  must  have  reached 
at  least  the  height  of  seven  feet,  and  no  communication  could 
take  place  except  by  boats. 

Long  and  dreary  was  the  watch  of  that  terrible  night. 
Toward  midnight  the  exhausted  lamp  expired,  and  only  the 
moon  and  stars  gave  light  through  the  broken  roof;  and  the 
sullen  wash  of  the  waves  against  the  uncertain  walls,  seemed 
the  sad  wail  of  desolation  over  the  destruction  of  beautiful, 
beloved  Wavertree. 

Even  the  patriarchal  tree  which  had  given  a  name  to  the 
place,  and  had  defied  the  storms  of  ages,  reared  its  bare  and 
denuded  trunk  toward  heaven.  The  branches  had  been  scat- 
tered by  the  resistless  tornado  as  so  many  dead  autumn 
leaves.  Toward  morning  Evelyn  opened  the  window-shutter 
on  that  side  of  the  house  which  the  tree  had  apparently  pro- 
tected from  destruction,  and  inexpressibly  sad  were  the  feel- 
ings of  the  weeping  group  that  surrounded  the  apparently 
dying  man,  as  they  beheld  the  ruin  of  the  dear  old  tree ;  it 
seemed  to  them  a  fatal  prestige  of  the  calamities  which  were 
crushing  the  fortunes  and  life  of  him  who  had  been  so  long 
sheltered  beneath  its  branches. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

A  BRILLIANT  morning  sun  dawned  on  a  scene  of  desolation, 
of  which  words  would  fail  to  give  an  accurate  picture.  A 
wide  gap  in  the  levee  afforded  free  ingress  to  the  sullen  flood, 
and  the  ruins  of  the  old  mansion  vibrated  to  every  wash  of 
the  waves.  Fortunately  the  wing  containing  the  library  was 
of  more  modern  construction  than  the  body  of  the  house,  and 
offered  greater  resistance  to  the  insidious  undermining  of  the 
waters. 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  sunbeams  were  reflected 
back  from  the  invading  flood,  and  an  experienced  eye  saw,  at 
a  glance,  that  ruin  and  devastation  reigned  conquerors  over 
the  lately  flourishing  plantation ;  and  not  over  Wavertree 
alone,  but  many  other  places  must  have  shared  the  same  fate ; 
as  this  levee  protected  many  miles  of  the  coast,  and  the  uni- 
form level  of  the  lands  offered  no  obstruction  to  the  passage 
of  the  water. 

Many  of  the  shivering  and  half-drowned  cattle  had  found 
their  way  to  the  embankment,  where  it  still  remained  firm ; 
and  stood  forlornly  regarding  the  deluge  which  surrounded 
them,  while  the  remainder  had  perished  in  their  struggle  to 
regain  a  temporary  place  of  safety. 

The  roofs  of  the  negro  cabins  were  covered  with  their  in- 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  327 

mates,  who  ever  and  anon  raised  their  voices  in  a  vain  effort 
to  hold  communication  with  those  in  the  house.  At  length 
two  of  the  most  intelligent  men  succeeded  in  making  a  frail 
raft  of  the  planks  from  the  roof  of  a  cabin,  and  on  it  they 
slowly  and  cautiously  approached  the  wrecked  mansion. 
Their  own  humble  abodes  had  escaped  almost  scatheless,  as 
they  fortunately  lay  just  beyond  the  path  of  the  tornado ; 
being  situated  more  than  half  a  mile  from  the  house. 

As  the  men  drew  near,  they  called  aloud  to  the  master, 
who,  alas !  was  in  no  condidion  to  hear  them  ;  and  Miss  Ger- 
trude went  to  the  window. 

"  Ah,  ha,  Miss  Gertrude,  dat  you,  safe  dar  ?  I  'm  mighty 
glad,  de  Good  Man  knows,  to  see  you  agin.  An'  whar  V 
master,  an'  de  young  ladies  ?  I  hope  nothin  's  happened  to 
dem,  dis  obstroplous  night,"  said  Peter,  the  spokesman  of  the 
two,  with  perceptible  anxiety  in  his  voice. 

"  Your  master  is  ill,  Peter — too  ill  to  speak  to  you  now. 
The  rest  of  us  have  escaped  almost  by  a  miracle.  How  is  it 
with  you  all  at  the  quarter  ?  Has  any  fatal  accident  occurred 
among  you,  during  this  dreadful  storm  ?" 

"  Bress  de  Lord,  we  's  all  safe,  missis.  Even  de  picanin- 
nies  is  doin'  bery  well.  But,  'bout  master.  Is  he  bery 
sick?" 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is,  Peter.  Can  you  not  find  a  boat  ? 
What  has  become  of  ours  ?" 

"  It 's  gone  like  de  old  house,"  replied  the  negro.  "  I  neb- 
ber  'spected  to  live  to  see  de  bressed  Wavertree  all  gone  to 
smash  dis  here  way ;  an'  I  think  it  oncommon  strange  God 
a1  mighty  could  n't  let  well  enough  alone." 


328  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  Hush,  Peter.  Do  not  speak  irreverently  of  what  He  sees 
best  to  do,"  replied  Miss  Harrington,  gravely.  "  My  brother 
stands  in  need  of  medical  assistance  as  speedily  as  it  can  be 
obtained.  I  must  trust  to  you  to  get  a  message  to  Dr.  Ger- 
main as  soon  as  possible." 

/  "  De  Lord  above  knows  my  willin'ness  to  do  de  bes'  I  can, 
/  Missis ;  but  it 's  rather  dubous  about  gitliri'  a  boat,  and  de 
bes'  plan  will  be  to  git  on  de  top  o'  de  levee  an'  walk  down  to 
de  doctor's.  It 's  a  narrow  paff,  an'  hemmed  in  wid  de  swell- 
in'  flood,  but  it's  like  de  road  to  glory  in  d?it  respec':  dere- 
fbre  ole  Pete  is  willin'  to  trabel  it  for  de  service  of  his  yearthly 
master,  as  he  is  de  oder  for  his  heavenly  one." 

During  this  conversation,  the  remainder  of  the  wearied  and 
frightened  group  gathered  around  the  window,  and  glad 
greetings  passed  between  the  negroes,  Evelyn  spoke  to  Peter. 

"Make  every  effort,  my  good  fellow,  to  get  Dr.  Germain 
here  as  speedily  as  may  be ;  you  will  probably  find  a  boat 
moored  safely  to  the  levee  somewhere  above,  where  it  has  not 
broken  away.  Any  of  our  neighbors  will  let  you  have  the 
use  of  it,  when  you  state  the  condition  in  which  your  master 
lies." 

"  I  un'stan's,  Mass'  Philip,  an'  I  will  'bey  your  'structions  to 

de  letter.     Ah — de  lily  is  whiter  den  eber,  an'  de  rose  hab 

I  los'  its  damask,"  he  added,  with  a  low  bow,  to  the  two  sisters, 

who  left  their   father's  side   a  moment  to  look   out  on  the 

changed  aspect  of  their  beloved  home. 

The  negroes  departed  on  their  errand,  and  as  the  family 
drew  around  the  couch  on  which  Mr.  Harrington  lay  appa- 
rently in  a  heavy  sleep,  a  hurried  counsel  was  held  as  to  the 


329 

best  course  to  be  pursued  in  their  forlorn  condition.  To  re- 
main in  the  ruin  was  impossible,  for  it  was  by  no  means  safe, 
even  if  they  had  possessed  the  means  of  comfort  within  its 
walls.  Evelyn  proposed  that  the  first  steamer  that  passed 
down  the  river  should  be  hailed,  and  Mr.  Harrington,  with  his 
sister  and  daughters,  should  be  transferred  to  it,  and  leave  for 
New  Orleans,  where  such  attendance  as  the  sick  man  stood 
so  imminently  in  need  of,  could  be  procured.  He  would  him- 
self remain  with  the  overseer  to  look  after  the  safety  of  the 
negroes,  and  would  follow  them  to  the  city  when  comfortable 
arrangements  had  been  made  for  them. 

This  plan  had  suggested  itself  to  each  one,  but  Miss  Ger- 
trude and  her  nieces  felt  a  great  reluctance  to  become  the 
guests  of  Mrs.  Ruskin,  at  such  a  crisis  ;  yet  they  knew  if  they 
ventured  to  stop  at  a  hotel  a  mortal  offense  would  be  given 
to  that  exacting  personage.  A  moment's  reflection,  however, 
convinced  them  that  the  first  consideration  must  be  the  benefit 
of  Mr.  Harrington,  and  every  objection  yielded  before  the 
necessity  of  placing  him  where  the  best  medical  skill  could 
be  obtained. 

This  determined  on,  it  became  necessary  to  reach  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  house,  if  there  remained  any  possibility  of 
doing  so,  to  ascertain  if  any  portion  of  the  wardrobe  of  the 
family  could  be  gathered  from  the  wreck.  Pauline  overruled 
her  aunt  and  Adele,  and  insisted  that  as  she  had  once  crossed 
the  insecure  floor  she  would  best  know  how  to  find  her  way 
in  safety :  but  Evelyn  would  accompany  her  to  protect  her  as 
far  as  possible  from  accident. 

On  reaching  the  hall,  they  found  that  the  floor  had  sunk  a 


330  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

foot  below  its  former  level ;  Evelyn  stepped  upon  it  first,  and 
finding  that  it  only  oscillated  slightly,  he  offered  his  hand  to 
Pauline  and  carefully  assisted  her  down.  As  they  stood  on 
the  threshold  of  the  back  parlor,  they  saw  that  it  gradually 
slanted  toward  the  opposite  side  where  the  supporting  wall 
had  partially  fallen.  The  doors  were  all  open,  and  through 
the  space  where  once  had  stood  her  own  beloved  room,  the 
blue  heavens  were  visible  to  Pauline. 

Evelyn  endeavored  to  induce  her  to  turn  back,  as  he  be- 
lieved the  risk  incurred  would  not  be  repaid  by  what  she 
might  regain  there ;  but  she  insisted  that  she  could  pass  the 
intervening  space  in  safety ;  as  she  spoke,  she  eluded  his 
grasp  and  glided  across  the  floor,  looking  more  like  a  spirit 
than  a  living  being. 

Afraid  to  step  upon  the  floor  at  the  same  time  lest  their 
united  weight  might  be  more  than  it  would  bear,  Philip  stood 
£till  until  she  had  gained  the  threshold  of  her  own  apartment. 
Then  he  rapidly  followed  her,  and  they  both  stood  togther  in 
what  had  so  lately  been  a  graceful  temple,  dedicated  to  re- 
finement and  elegance. 

Now  the  furniture  was  crushed  and  defaced,  and  the  greater 
part  of  it  utterly  destroyed.  Pauline  eagerly  sought  for  the 
remains  of  the  writing-table,  but  only  a  few  vestiges  of  it  re  - 
mained ;  and  with  an  expression  of  blank  disappointment  she 
turned  to  the  dressing-stand,  which  lay  on  one  side  with  the 
mirror  shivered  into  fragments.  On  unclosing  the  drawers, 
the  contents  were  found  in  a  tolerable  state  of  preservation 
from  the  damp,  and  she  took  from  them  a  change  of  clothing 
for  herself  and  sister. 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  331 

Ashamed  of  the  hesitation  they  had  betrayed  in  braving  a 
danger  from  which  their  young  lady  had  not  shrunk,  two  of 
the  servants  at  length  found  courage  to  follow  Pauline,  and 
after  gaining  that  side  of  the  house  in  safety,  they  soon  pene- 
trated to  the  respective  chambers  of  their  master  and  his 
sister.  In  the  latter,  they  found  a  large  work-basket,  which 
Letty,  her  own  maid,  filled  with  the  clothes  selected  by 
Pauline,  and  safely  transferred  them  to  the  library.  An 
empty  trunk  was  also  sent  over  to  pack  them  in,  and  Pauline 
prepared  to  return. 

As  she  was  about  to  leave  the  spot  forever,  she  paused  and 
cast  her  eyes  around  the  beloved  walls,  as  if  bidding  a  last 
adieu  to  the  place  which  had  been  so  dear  to  her  heart : 
where  so  many  bright  hours  had  been  spent — where  the 
great  anguish  of  her  life  had  overtaken  her. 

As  her  sorrowful  glance  roved  slowly  around,  it  caught 
sight  of  several  bits  of  paper  scattered  under  the  crushed 
bedstead.  She  darted  forward,  and  there,  saturated  with 
water,  lay  her  portfolio,  nearly  concealed  by  the  fallen  drapery 
of  the  bed. 

"  Thank  God  !  I  could  lose  all  better  than  this !"  was 
the  exclamation  with  which  she  drew  it  forth,  and  eagerly 
opening  it,  a  faint  rush  of  crimson  came  to  her  pallid  cheeks 
as  she  grasped  a  slender  frame  that  lay  within.  Forgetful  of 
Evelyn's  vicinity,  she  hurriedly  unclosed  it :  the  light  glanced 
on  a  face  of  regal  manly  beauty,  and  her  companion  knew 
then  why  she  had  so  resolutely  braved  the  risk  of  entering 
her  own  room  again.  He  looked  on  her  face,  and  read  there 
a  joy  scarcely  inferior  to  that  which  would  have  welcomed 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

the  living  original,  had  he  come,  as  once  she  thought  ae 
would,  to  claim  her  everlasting  troth.  Then  her  lips  grew 
tremulous  and  white,  and  with  blinding  tears  she  hid  it  from 
her  sight.  Philip  softly  said, 

"Give  it  to  me,  cousin.  The  sight  of  that  face,  which 
seems  an  index  of  so  much  that  is  noble,  only  lacerates  your 
heart  anew.  Put  it  far  from  you,  and  it  will  be  better  for  you." 

"  Do  not  ask  it  of  me,  Philip.  I  can  not — I  can  not.  He 
does  not  know  I  have  it :  he  left  it  here  by  accident.  It  was 
brought  to  me  by  the  servant  who  attended  to  his  room.  I 
did  not  then  think  it  wrong  to  keep  it,  for  I  believed  he 
loved  me.  Now  I  must  keep  it,  or — or — " 

She  paused  and  struggled  with  her  emotion.  Then  with 
an  accent  of  pride,  she  said, 

"  It  is  my  will  to  keep  it — let  that  suffice." 

Evelyn  saw  that  it  would  be  useless  to  remonstrate,  and  he 
said  nothing  more.  Pauline  "gave  him  a  small  casket  con- 
taining her  own  and  her  sister's  jewels,  which  she  had  found 
safe  in  one  of  the  drawers ;  and  herself  carried  her  portfolio 
with  its  precious  contents,  on  their  return  to  the  library. 

When  they  entered,  they  found  those  within  watching  the 
approach  of  a  steamer  which  cautiously  drew  near  the  eddy- 
ing whirl  made  in  the  river  by  the  crevasse.  She  made  a 
landing  nearly  opposite  the  house,  and  a  boat  with  the  cap- 
tain in  it,  who  was  an  old  acquaintance,  came  to  offer  such 
assistance  as  it  was  evident  they  so  greatly  needed.  Sincere 
was  the  concern  of  the  kind  man,  when  he  learned  the  con- 
dition of  the  master  of  the  family,  and  he  hurried  back  to 
provide  the  means  of  transporting  him  to  his  vessel. 


333 

After  much  difficulty,  Mr.  Harrington  was  transferred  to 
the  steamer,  the  motion  caused  the  blood  to  flow  from  his 
arm,  which  had  been  left  unbandaged  in  the  hope  of  such  a 
result,  and  be  showed  some  faint  signs  of  returning  conscious- 
ness. He  was  soon  placed  in  a  comfortable  berth,  and  a  few 
moments  afterward,  Adele  was  made  inexpressibly  happy  by 
an  effort  from  him  to  pronounce  her  name.  Judicious  and 
unremitting  attention  soon  restored  him  to  perfect  conscious- 
ness, though  he  was  still  feeble  to  an  alarming  degree. 

Evelyn  bade  the  melancholy  family  a  reluctant  farewell, 
assuring  them  that  so  soon  as  he  had  seen  the  slaves  safely 
transferred  to  the  high  land  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river, 
and  as  comfortably  situated  as  the  nature  of  things  admitted, 
he  would  join  them  in  New  Orleans. 

As  the  boat  swung  around,  and  prepared  to  resume  her 
voyage  down  the  stream,  a  wild  wail  of  sorrow  from  the 
negroes,  over  the  departure  of  their  beloved  master  arose,  and 
its  sad  cadence  mingled  with  the  dash  of  the  waters,  and  the 
roar  of  the  escaping  stream,  until  an  intervening  bend  in  the 
river  shut  out  the  mournful  wreck  of  that  which  at  last  even- 
ing's sunset  had  been  so  fair,  and  also  drowned  the  sorrowful 
cries  of  the  unhappy  blacks  over  the  misfortunes  which  had 
whelmed  all  in  one  common  ruin. 

They  comprehended  the  probable  result  of  the  disasters  of 
the  past  night,  and  a  vague  fear  filled  the  minds  of  all,  that 
a  sale  must  soon  take  place,  which  would  transfer  them  to 
the  ownership  of  another,  in  all  probability  less  kind,  less 
considerate  than  him  who  had  so  long  held  them  beneath  his 
mild  sway. 


334 

By  almost  superhuman  exertions,  the  overseer,  aided  effi- 
ciently by  Evelyn,  found  means  to  transfer  them  during  the 
day  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  which  was  hilly  and 
\  uncultivated.  There,  temporary  shelters  were  erected  in  a 
\  few  hours,  food  was  obtained  for  them,  and,  with  their  animal 
jwants  supplied,  the  negroes  slept  as  soundly  that  night  as 
though  no  trouble  had  ever  visited  their  waking  hours ;  while 
he  who  held  the  position  of  their  master,  tossed  from  side  to 
side  on  his  uneasy  pillow,  bringing  the  bitter  conviction 
\  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  mind,  that  irretrievable  ruin  had 
overtaken  him  and  his. 

Once  his  strong  soul  would  have  braced  itself  for  the  con- 
flict with  that  blind  fortune  which  of  late  had  so  utterly  with- 
drawn her  favors  from  him ;  but  now  he  was  ill,  nerveless, 
with  a  confused  brain  and  tremulous  form,  and  he  felt  him- 
self unable  to  cope  with  her. 

In  the  long  hours  of  that  lonely  night,  with  the  sound  of 
the  dashing  waves  in  his  ears,  he  felt  that  the  waters  of  a 
wider  sea  wTould  soon  receive  him,  and  he  laid  bare  his  soul 
before  the  all-seeing  One,  and  prayed  to  have  all  earthly  frail- 
ties removed  far  from  him. 

But  two  things  appertaining  to  earth  he  asked  in  humble- 
ness of  spirit :  one  was  time  to  place  his  worldly  affairs  in 
such  a  train  that  none  should  suffer  through  him  or  have 
cause  to  reproach  his  memory ;  the  other  was  resignation  to 
the  decree  which  removed  him  from  his  beloved  ones  when 
they  most  needed  him. 

How  often,  during  the  hours  of  that  long  night,  did  the 
cry  of  David  over  his  ungrateful  son  come  home  to  him,  as 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  335 

his  sorrowful  breast  yearned  over  the  uncertain  fate  of  the 
hapless  Victor.  To  see  him  once  more — to  clasp  him  in 
forgiveness  to  his  breast  was  now  the  strongest  wish  of  his 
soul. 

Fortunately  the  recent  career  of  the  reckless  young  man 
was  unsuspected  by  him ;  tor,  e^eu  in  thought,  this  noble, 
high-minded  man  could  not  link  dishonor  with  the  unsullied 
name  he  had  borne  through  a  long  life.  That  Victor  was 
wild  and  disobedient  he  keenly  felt,  but  that  deeper  turpitude 
could  ever  sully  his  actions,  he  did  not  once  suspect.  Fortu- 
nate it  was  for  him  that  he  possessed  such  confidence,  for  it 
saved  his  broken  heart  from  the  severest  pang  it  could  have 
known,  even  amid  the  ruined  hopes  that  were  crushing  him 
into  his  grave. 

22  Aird 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

WEEKS  sped  away  during  the  progress  of  these  events,  and 
the  preparations  for  the  union  of  Louise  with  Kevin  were 
rapidly  progressing.  Since  her  last  interview  with  Victor, 
she  had  heard  nothing  from  him ;  he  had  ceased  to  per- 
secute her  with  his  letters,  and  in  a  vague  state  of  fear 
concerning  him,  she  awaited  the  arrival  of  her  bridal 
day. 

Where  Victor  was,  or  what  he  might  be  tempted  to  do, 
when  her  treachery  became  apparent  to  him,  she  trembled 
to  think ;  yet,  with  her  characteristic  heedlessness,  she  thrust 
the  fear  from  her  as  far  as  possible,  and  pursued  the  path 
she  had  resolved  to  tread  in,  with  a  calm  brow  and  smil- 
ing lip. 

Early  one  evening  Nevin  came  in,  with  a  serious-look- 
ing brow,  crushing  a  letter  in  his  hand.  Louise  looked  up 
at  him  apprehensively,  for,  of  late,  every  thing  made  her  feel 
jervous. 

"  Has  any  thing  unpleasant  happened  ?"  she  inquired,  in 
considerable  trepidation. 

"  Do  not  grow  pale,  my  pretty  rose-bud^'  he  playfully  re- 
plied, though  his  thoughtful  brow  did  not  relax.  "It  is 
nothing  that  can  affect  your  happiness ;  but  a  singular  and  re- 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  337 

volting  circumstance,  in  which  I  am  interested,  has  just  come 
to  light.  This  letter  from  the  overseer  of  the  plantation  of  my 
lately  deceased  aunt,  informs  me  of  it ;  and,  reckless  as  I  am. 
it  fills  me  with  horror." 

"  What  can  it  be  ?" 

"  You  have,  perhaps,  heard  me  speak  of  a  strange  whim  of 
the  old  lady,  to  be  buried  in  family  jewels  of  immense  value  ? 
As  she  had  no  child  to  heir  them,  and  they  came  to  her  from 
her  husband's  side  of  the  family,  to  which  I  am  not  related,  I 
considered  my  claim  to  them  as  doubtful.  At  all  events,  I 
should  have  respected  her  wish  to  lie  in  state,  decked  with 
jewels  in  her  coffin.  Well,  by  some  means,  it  became 
known  that  diamonds  were  entombed  with  her,  and  Wilkins 
writes  to  me  that  the  vault  has  been  violated,  and  the  jewels 
removed." 

Louise  uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror.     She  asked, 

"  Why  did  they  not  keep  a  careful  watch  over  the  tomb  ?" 

"  That  was  done  until  it  was  supposed  all  danger  was 
past ;  but  the  very  first  night  that  my  poor  old  aunt  and 
her  finery  were  left  to  the  protection  of  the  ghosts  that  are 
said  to  haunt  church-yards,  some  daring  disbeliever  in 
such  stories  invaded  her  rest,  and  despoiled  her  of  her  orna- 
ments." 

"Do  not  speak  so  lightly  of  what  was  so  terrible.  It 
was  an  awful  sacrilege.  What  steps  will  you  take  to  recover 
them  ?" 

"  Before  writing  to  me,  Wilkins  telegraphed  to  the  chief  of 
police  in  New  Orleans  to  warn  every  jeweler  in  the  city 
against  purchasing  them;  and  such  precautions  have  been 

15 


838  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

taken  as  must  lead  to  the  detection  of  the  robber,  if  he  ven- 
tures to  offer  them  for  sale  here." 

"  Are  the  diamonds  of  very  fine  water  ?" 

"  They  are  magnificent.  M.  Le  Grand  claimed  royal  blood 
— how  justly  I  do  not  know ;  but  these  diamonds  he  asserted 
had  once  belonged  to  a  Bourbon  prince.  He  was  one  of  the 
refugees  from  France  during  the  Revolution  of  '92,  and  these 
jewels  were  nearly  all  he  saved  in  his  flight.  He  subse- 
quently married  my  mother's  aunt,  who  owned  large  posses- 
sions herself.  Among  the  ornaments  is  one  in  the  form  of  a 
scepter,  surmounted  by  the  most  magnificent  emerald  I  ever 
have  seen." 

"  What  a  shame  to  bury  them  with  the  dead !"  exclaimed 
Louise. 

"  True — and  now  they  have  been  disinterred,  I  will  make 
a  better  use  of  them,  should  I  be  so  fortunate  as  to  regain 
them.  What  a  magnificent  parure  they  would  make  for  you, 
Louise,  reset  in  modern  style.  That  is,  if  you  could  get  over 
the  idea  that  they  had  once  been  buried  with  the  dead." 

Louise  shuddered,  and  felt  a  little  shrinking  at  first ;  but 
the  imagined  glitter  of  the  gems  soon  dispelled  this  from  her 
vain  heart,  and  she  eagerly  replied, 

u  Regain  them,  if  you  can,  by  all  means.  Then  it  will  be 
time  enough  to  decide  on  the  disposition  we  will  make  of 
them." 

"I  shall  certainly  make  every  effort  to  do  so,  ma  petite. 
It  would  be  too  great  a  loss  to  suffer  family  jewels  of  such 
value  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  others,  without  using  every 
exertion  to  recover  them." 


339 

"  And  is  there  not  the  slightest  clew  to  the  robber  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  though  I  hope  we  will  soon  gain  one." 

"  If  he  should  be  discovered,  would  you  prosecute  him  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly — for  the  double  crime  of  theft  and  sacri- 
lege. Poor  wretch  !  I  am  afraid  it  would  go  hard  with  him." 

Louise  looked  grave.  She  knew  it  was  criminal  to  act 
thus,  but  she  was  too  young,  and  yet  possessed  too  much 
feeling  to  wish  to  regain  the  gems  at  the  sacrifice  of  another's 
liberty  for  years  of  his  life ;  she  reflected  a  few  moments,  and 
then  said, 

"It  seems  to  me  that  some  man  maddened  by  poverty 
must  have  been  tempted  to  commit  this  crime.  Perhaps  you 
may  wrong  him  more  deeply  by  seeking  to  expose  him,  than 
he  oould  injure  you  by  taking  from  you  what  you  had  virtu- 
ally relinquished,  by  permitting  the  jewels  to  be  buried  in  the 
grave." 

"  You  reason  like  a  little  lawyer,  my  pretty  one ;  but  even 
if  I  were  convinced,  it  is  too  late  to  withdraw  the  instruc- 
tions the  police  have  received  ;  and  I  must  admit  that  I  hope 
they  will  be  successful  in  detecting  the  author  of  so  revolting 
a  sacrilege." 

Louise  half  smiled,  and  changed  the  conversation.  A 
bridal  tour  to  Havana  had  been  proposed,  and  they  were 
deeply  interested  in  its  discussion,  when  a  servant  belonging 
to  Nevin  sent  in  a  request  to  see  his  master  a  few  moments. 

He  arose  and  went  to  the  door,  where  an  intelligent  mu- 
latto, much  in  his  confidence,  awaited  him. 

"What  is  it,  Ned?"  he  inquired.  "Something  unusual 
must  have  happened,  to  induce  you  to  follow  me." 


340  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir  ;  but  I  knew  how  anxious  you  are  about 
the  robbery  of  Madame  Le  Grand's  jewels,  and  as  this  letter 
was  left  for  you  shortly  after  you  came  away,  by  a  suspicious- 
looking  person,  I  thought  I  had  better  bring  it  to  you  at 
once." 

"  You  were  quite  right.     I  will  examine  it  immediately." 
As  Kevin  returned  to  the  room,  he  broke  the  seal  of  a 
strangely-folded  letter,  and  pausing  beside  the  lamp,  he  read 
the  following  words,  written  evidently  in  a  disguised  hand  : 


"  It  is  useless  to  take  any  steps  for  the  recovery  of  your 
diamonds,  for  I,  the  purloiner,  assure  you  that  they  will  be 
utterly  unsuccessful.  I  have  only  borrowed  them,  for  I  am 
no  vulgar  thief,  and  I  pledge  my  word  that  within  ten  years 
they  shall  be  restored  to  you  ;  or  their  equivalent  in  money, 
with  the  interest  due  on  their  value  during  that  period. 

"  I  stood  in  vital  need  of  the  funds  I  can  raise  on  them, 
and  I  knew  they  could  be  of  no  value  to  you  lying  in  a 
death-vault.  I  reasoned  that  it  could  be  no  injury  to  you  to 
appropriate  them  for  a  season,  and  it  could  be  no  wrong  to 
the  wearer  to  remove  them  carefully  from  her  person.  This 
I  have  done.  Think  how  strong  my  necessity  must  have 
been,  when  it  overcame  the  thrilling  horror  of  sacrilege  to 
the  grave  of  the  dead,  and  be  assured,  that  he  who  did  this, 
is  quite  capable  of  warding  off  even  suspicion  from  himself." 

He  read  these  lines,  and  then  offered  them  to  Louise.  He 
laughed  as  he  said, 


341 

"  Here  is  something  curiously  apropos  to  the  subject  of  our 
conversation ;  see,  I  have  a  letter  actually  from  the  robber, 
and  he  addresses  me  as  unceremoniously  as  if  he  belonged 
to  the  same  sphere  in  life  with  myself." 

Louise  eagerly  held  out  her  hand.  She  glanced  at  the 
crabbed-looking  writing,  and  suddenly  averting  her  head, 
grew  very  pale,  and  sank  back  on  a  seat. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Louise  ?  Why  are  you  so  pale  ?" 
asked  Nevin,  in  alarm. 

By  a  great  effort  she  regained  outward  composure,  though 
her  heart  beat  so  violently  that  she  felt  as  if  suffocating.  She 
forced  a  faint  laugh,  as  she  said, 

"  I — I  really  hardly  know.  I  am  not  given  to  fainting,  as 
you  know :  but  just  then  I  felt  very  like  it.  It  must  be 
that  there  is  some  occult  sympathy  between  the  miserable 
writer  of  this  letter  and  myself.  You  know  I  was  pleading 
his  cause  only  a  little  while  since." 

Her  manner  was  flurried,  and  Nevin  regarded  her  with  a 
perplexed  air.  He  seriously  said, 

"  Your  agitation  is  incomprehensible,  Louise.  The  writer 
of  this  letter  can  not  be  known  to  you.  Is  the  writing 
familiar  to  you  ?  Look — tell  me — does  it  resemble  any  you 
have  ever  before  seen  ?" 

Louise  felt  the  necessity  of  self-control,  and  she  resolutely 
curbed  the  tremor  that  thrilled  through  every  nerve  in  her 
frame.  She  calmly  replied, 

"  It  does  not — I  am  surprised  that  you  should  ask  such  a 
question.  How  could  you  expect  me  to  recognize  such  crabbed- 
looking  characters  as  those  ?  Let  me  see  what  he  says :  I 


342 

was  only  moved  by  a  foolish  sympathy  for  one  reduced  to 
such  extremity,  that  was  all." 

"Ah — I  did  not  know  your  sympathies  were  so  easily 
aroused  before." 

Louise  affected  not  to  hear  him,  as  she  glanced  over  the 
lines.  She  asked, 

"  Will  you  still  prosecute  the  search  2" 

"  Certainly ;  that  was  only  written  to  prevent  me  from  using 
vigorous  measures  for  their  recovery.  I  shall  be  doubly  on 
the  alert  now.  But  let  us  dismiss  this  poor  devil  from  our 
thoughts,  and  talk  of  our  own  affairs.  They  are  of  much 
deeper  interest  to  us.  A  fine  steamship  leaves  for  Havana  on 
this  day  week.  Name  the  morning  of  that  day  for  our  bridal, 
and  we  will  -leave  on  her.  It  will  soon  be  too  late  in  the 
season  for  such  a  trip,  if  you  continue  to  put  me  off,  Louise. 
Shall  it  be  so,  my  own  love  ?" 

After  some  demur,  Louise  consented  to  this  arrangement, 
and  after  a  little  more  lover-like  talk,  the  betrothed  parted. 

The  young  girl  had  managed,  as  if  in  a  fit  of  absence  of 
mind,  to  retain  the  mysterious  letter  which  had  caused  such 
inexplicable  agitation  to  her.  In  the  delight  of  having  a  day 
for  their  union  at  last  named,  Nevin  had  quite  forgotten  it. 

Louise  stood  on  the  spot  on  which  he  had  left  her,  listening 
eagerly  until  she  heard  the  outer  door  close  after  him.  Then 
she  unfolded  the  paper  with  feverish  haste,  and  with  distended 
eyes  and  pallid  lips  she  again  examined  the  writing  which  no 
effort  had  been  able  to  disguise  from  her. 

As  the  conviction  came  home  to  her  that  Victor  was  indeed 
the  writer,  she  threw  herself  upon  a  sofa,  and  wept  bitterly. 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  343 

"  O,  has  it  come  to  this,"  she  convulsively  sobbed.  "  A 
felon !  and  for  my  sake !  and  I  so  fallen — so  ready  to  sell  my- 
self to  another !  O  Victor,  Victor,  I  love  you  in  spite  of 
all ;  but  this  act  severs  us  more  widely  than  even  my  union 
with  another.  This  fatal  letter,  to  what  might  it  not  have 
led,  had  I  not  secured  it?  Imprudent — imprudent  to  write  it 
at  all.  I  must  destroy  it  at  once." 

With  this  thought  she  started  up,  and  thrusting  it  into  the 
lamp,  watched  it  consume  with  trembling  eagerness.  She 
heard  her  mother  approaching  the  room,  giving  directions  to 
a  servant  as  she  came,  and  Louise  sprang  forward  to  escape 
before  she  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  that  she  had  been 
weeping. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  arrested  her  on  the  threshold. 

"  Your  uncle  and  cousins  have  just  sent  word  that  they  are 
at  the  landing,  and  will  be  here  within  an  hour.  This  notice 
was  sent  beforehand  that  we  may  have  a  room  prepared  for 
my  brother,  who  is  ill,  and  comes  to  the  city  for  medical 
advice." 

Louise  paused,  but  she  made  no  reply,  and  Mrs.  Ruskin 
went  on, 

"  It  is  especially  inconvenient  to  have  a  sick  man  here  in 
the  height  of  our  preparations  for  your  marriage,  but  he  must 
not  go  to  a  hotel  while  I  have  a  house  to  receive  him  in." 

"  Of  course  not ;  after  all  his  kindness  to  us,"  Louise  found 
voice  to  say. 

"  0,  as  to  that,  I  am  not  particular,"  replied  her  mother, 
with  a  shrug.  "  If  it  were  not  for  other  people  talking,  I 
would  not  incommode  myself  just  now  to  receive  them. 


344 

Thank  heaven,  after  your  brilliant  marriage  is  concluded  our 
obligations  to  him  will  be  at  an  end,  and  I  can  free  myself 
from  keeping  up  a  show  of  cordiality  I  really  do  not  feel." 

Louise  was  too  much  accustomed  to  her  mother's  hard 
manner  of  acting,  to  feel  surprised  that  she  thus  expressed 
herself.  She  did  not  remonstrate,  though  with  her  heart  full 
of  newly-awakened  tenderness  toward  Victor  she  thought  it 
cruel  to  speak  thus  of  a  relative  so  near  and  so  kind  as  her 
uncle  had  always  been  to  every  member  of  her  mother's 
family.  She  only  asked, 

"What  rooms  have  you  ordered  to  be  made  ready  for 
them,  ma'am  ?" 

"  0,  the  same  as  usual ;  the  two  front  chambers  up  stairs. 
But  really,  Louise,  it  will  be  very  inconvenient  to  me,  and  an 
ill-omen  beside,  to  have  a  dying  man  in  the  house  when  a 
wedding  is  going  on." 

lf  Dying,  mother  ?     My  uncle  is  not  as  ill  as  that,  I  hope." 

"  I  do  n't  know.  The  messenger  said  he  had  suffered 
another  attack  similar  to  the  one  he  had  when  we  were  there ; 
and  lay  insensible  many  hours.  But  the  worst  news  of  all  is, 
that  a  crevasse  had  taken  place,  and  a  tornado  has  swept  over 
Wavertree — together  they  have  almost  destroyed  the  place. 
I  know  your  uncle  must  be  ruined,  and  he  is  the  trustee  for 
the  fortune  belonging  to  my  children.  I  shall  insist  on  com- 
ing in  as  first  creditor,  and  having  their  interest  secured  at 
once,  and  that  is  one  reason  why  I  submit  to  the  trouble  of 
receiving  them  just  now." 

This  intelligence  aroused  the  interest  of  Louise,  and  she 
listened  eagerly. 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  345 

"  Poor  uncle  !"  she  sighed.  "  He  has  been  most  un- 
fortunate of  late.  You  need  have  no  fears,  mother,  concern- 
ing the  money — so  honorable  a  man  will  never  permit  orphan 
children  to  suffer  through  him." 

"  I  hope  not,"  was  the  brief  rejoinder  of  Mrs.  Ruskin,  and 
Louise  escaped  to  her  own  room.  She  hurried  to  the  mir- 
ror to  see  if  her  tell-tale  face  would  betray  her  emotion 
to  those  that  were  expected,  and  her  eye  glanced  on  a 
letter  addressed  to  herself  in  the  writing  of  Victor  Harring- 
ton. Had  a  serpent  met  her  on  her  path,  she  could  scarcely 
have  been  more  appalled,  and  she  stood  white  and  cold,  afraid 
to  learn  its  contents. 

She  had  never  been  able  to  discover  who  placed  the  mis- 
sives upon  her  dressing-stand,  but  all  the  communications  she 
had  received  from  Victor  since  his  incognito,  had  been  thus 
mysteriously  placed  where  she  must  find  them.  Her  own 
maid  declared  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  means  by  which 
they  were  brought  into  the  house,  and  hitherto  the  fear  that 
her  mother  would  discover  their  reception  prevented  her  from 
making  a  too  rigid  inquiry  among  the  other  servants. 

Partly  anticipating  the  contents,  she  presently  summoned 
courage  to  break  the  seal,  and  read  these  lines : 

"  Louise,  I  claim  your  promise.  Victory  is  mine.  I  have 
won  independence,  and  I  claim  the  troth  pledged  to  me.  I 
know  your  mother  will  never  consent  to  our  union,  but  if  you 
love  me,  as  you  have  often  vowed  you  do,  you  will  not  hesi- 
tate to  elope  with  me. 

"  I  am  on  the  eve  of  departure  for  a  foreign  land,  and  you 
15* 


346  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

must  be  my  companion.  O,  Louise,  I  am  almost  deliriously 
happy  in  the  thought  that  I  can  now  call  you  my  own — can 
snatch  you  from  the  gilded  misery  to  which  your  mother  is 
so  eager  to  consign  you.  We  will  seek  Italy — the  world-re- 
nowned land  of  poetry  and  song,  and  in  its  charming  climate 
and  delightful  associations  forget  the  misery  of  the  past. 

"  See,  Louise ;  though  the  world  persists  in  saying  that  you 
are  on  the  eve  of  marriage  with  Nevin,  I  do  not  utter  a  re- 
proach or  a  doubt  of  your  truth.  I  believe  that  you  love  me, 
even  as  I  do  you,  and  you  will  gladly  fly  from  the  hollow 
splendor  he  offers  you  to  him  who  assures  you  that  he  is 
neither  deluding  you  nor  himself  when  he  offers  you  a  luxu- 
rious and  happy  home  in  the  land  of  the  olive  and  the  vine. 
Come  with  me,  love,  and  1  promise  you  happiness;  what 
more  can  a  mortal  ask  of  life  ?  What  brighter  boon  can 
lleaven  itself  bestow  on  poor  humanity  ? 

"  I  will  call  on  you  this  evening.  Again  I  am  Victor  Har- 
rington. Again  I  lift  up  my  head  among  my  peers,  and  ex- 
ultingly  claim  the  woman  I  love  in  spite  of  that  unrighteous 
authority  which  would  refuse  her  to  me." 

Again  Louise  wept ;  but  she  soon  stifled  her  tears,  and  seiz- 
ing a  pen  hurriedly  wrote. 

"  Come  to  see  your  dying  father,  Victor,  who  will  be  be- 
neath our  roof  by  the  time  this  reaches  you ;  but  seek  me 
not.  I  refuse  to  share  the  independence  you  have  so  mys- 
teriously gained,  because  /  know  how  it  was  obtained.  Be 
assured  I  write  only  the  truth  when  I  assert  this ;  and  0 1 


347 

Victor,  I  tremble  while  I  write  it.     You,  the  son  of  an  honor- 
able man,  have — 

"  Victor,  Victor,  if  I  thought  that  your  unhappy  passion 
for  myself  had  brought  this  ruin  upon  you,  I  should  reproach 
myself  with  it  to  the  last  hour  of  my  life.  Recoil  from  the 
evil  you  have  committed.  Make  such  restitution  as  is  com- 
patible with  your  own  safety ;  suffer  this  dark  passage  in 
your  life  to  be  buried  in  your  own  breast,  and  in  that  of  her 
who  would  once  have  shared  her  life  with  you ;  but  not  now, 
Victor — you  have  done  that  which  places  an  everlasting  bar- 
rier between  us." 

There  was  no  signature  to  this  scrawl,  which  her  tears  de- 
faced in  many  places;  she  folded  and  sealed  it,  and  then 
summoned  the  mulatto  girl  who  waited  on  her,  to  her 
presence. 

"  Annette,"  she  gravely  said,  "  you  have  constantly  denied 
all  knowledge  of  the  means  by  which  the  letters  I  have  latehr 
received  have  been  placed  in  my  room.  It  matters  not  noW; 
but  this  I  require  of  you  ;  that  you  take  this  note  without  an 
address,  and  cause  it  to  be  delivered  to  the  person  who  sent 
them,  before  an  hour  has  elapsed.  If  you  fail  to  do  so,  my 
mother  shall  be  informed.  Go  now  ;  I  shall  be  sure  to  know 
to-night  whether  the  note  has  reached  the  person  for  whom  it 
is  intended." 

Annette  looked  frightened,  for  she  knew  the  unbending 
severity  of  her  mistress.  She  stammered, 

"  Only  think,  Miss  Louise.  I  has  waited  on  you  sence  you 
was  a  little  girl,  and  now  you  gwine  to  tell  missis  'bout  dese 


348  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

letters,  and  git  me  in  trouble,  when  I  don't  know  nothin' 
'bout  era — I  'clare  I  don't." 

"  That  may,  or  may  not  be  true,  Annette,"  replied  her 
young  lady,  with  more  dignity  than  her  maid  had  ever  before 
seen  her  assume;  "but  you  are  literally  to  obey  my  orders. 
Since  you  live  among  the  other  servants,  you  must  have  some 
clew  to  the  person  who  ventures  to  bring  these  letters  here. 
It  is  imperatively  necessary  that  an  answer  to  this  last  one 
shall  be  sent  at  once,  that  an  end  may  be  put  to  such  imper- 
tinence. It  is  your  business  to  see  that  it  safely  reaches  the 
person  for  whom  it  is  intended ;  remember  that  he  receives 
it  without  delay,  or  my  mother  shall  investigate  the  affair." 

A  bustle  was  heard  below  stairs,  which  announced  the 
arrival  of  her  uncle's  family,  and  Louise  left  the  room  with 
an  imposing  step.  Annette  stood  where  she  left  her,  mutter- 
ing, 

"  'Vestigation,  indeed !  Missis  sha  n't  do  no  sich  thing. 
Jes'  as  if  Miss  Louise  don't  know  that  Mass  Victor  sent  them 
ere  letters,  and  till  now  she  was  mighty  glad  to  git  'em. 
An'  as  I  'm  livin',  here 's  nothin'  but  a  white  paper  kiver  with 
no  name  at  all  on  it !  Well,  women  is  women  all  de  worl* 
over ;  dey  mus'  make  a  mystery  out  o'  nothin'." 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

MR.  HARRINGTON  was  carried  at  once  to  the  apartment 
prepared  for  him,  and  even  Mrs.  Kuskin  was  shocked  as  she 
looked  on  his  fallen  and  pallid  features.  He  seemed  ten 
years  older  than  when  she  had  parted  from  him  only  a  few 
months  before,  and  his  hair  lay  in  silvery  waves  around  his 
sunken  temples. 

He  lay  for  many  moments  almost  insensible  from  exhaus- 
tion, after  they  placed  him  on  the  bed,  and  when  he  lifted  his 
weary  eyelids,  the  first  object  he  beheld  was  Louise,  half 
weeping  over  his  condition.  He  feebly  motioned  her  to  draw 
nearer  to  him,  and  as  she  bent  over  him,  he  whispered, 

"My  son,  my  Victor!  Where  is  he,  Louise?  Do  you 
know  aught  of  him  ?" 

"  I  do,  dear  uncle.  I  know  that  Victor  is  in  town ;  that 
he  has  laid  aside  the  incognito  he  has  so  long  thought  proper 
to  observe  toward  his  friends.  I  am  certain  he  will  be  here 
to-night,  for  I  have  apprised  him  of  your  expected  arrival." 

"Thanks,  my  child.  Are  you  sure  he  will  come?"  he 
eagerly  asked. 

"  I  think  I  can  reply,  Yes ;  for  I  look  for  him  with  cer- 
tainty before  the  evening  is  over." 

The  overburdened  heart  of  the  father  heaved  a  deep  sigh 


350  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

of  thankfulness,  and  his  lips  moved  as  if  lie  prayed  mentally. 
Just  then  the  physician  who  had  been  summoned,  came  in. 
He  was  an  old  acquaintance,  and  he  examined  the  condition 
of  his  patient  with  a  serious  carefulness  which  caused  those 
most  deeply  interested  in  the  result,  to  tremble. 

Mr.  Harrington  also  drew  his  own  auguries  from  his  man- 
ner, and  he  said,  in  a  subdued  tone, 

"  I  read  my  doom,  doctor.  Do  not  fear  to  speak  the 
truth :  I  may  shrink  from  leaving  those  who  are  dependent 
on  me,  but  I  do  not  fear  to  die.  Nay,  to  meet  the  deliverer 
upon  his  holy  mission,  would  be  easy  to  me,  but  for  the  grief 
of  those  I  love." 

"  I  rejoice  that  it  is  thus  with  you,"  replied  the  physician, 
in  the  same  tone ;  "  for  your  time  of  deliverance  from  earthly 
cares  is  at  hand.  Set  your  house  in  order  without  delay, 
Mr.  Harrington,  for  the  subtle  cord  may  be  snapped  at  any 
moment." 

"  Ah  !  is  it  even  thus  ?"  and  a  bright  ray  of  joy  illumined 
his  features  for  a  single  instant.  The  face  of  a  seraph  seemed 
bending  toward  him,  to  bear  him  away  to  that  world  where 
"  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

The  weary !  How  significant  was  that  little  phrase.  The 
burden  of  life  might  be  laid  down — and  rest  be  found — 
rest  for  which  he  pined ;  which  he  so  greatly  needed.  O  no ! 
death  had  no  terrors  for  the  good  man  who  could  raise  his 
brow  before  the  Eternal  and  with  truth  say,  "  Father,  I  have 
respected  the  divinity  breathed  into  my  spirit  by  thy  ever- 
lasting grace.  A  true  and  noble  life  hast  thou  given  unto 
me,  and  I  have  endeavored,  so  far  as  lay  within  the  imperfect 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  351 

ability  of  human  nature,  to  do  that  which  thou  hast  com- 
manded thy  children  to  perform." 

While  thus  rapt  away  from  earth,  and  its  cares,  the  dying 
man  was  oblivious  of  those  around  him.  The  touch  of  Adele, 
and  the  sound  of  her  low  voice  speaking  to  the  physician, 
recalled  him;  and  he  felt  the  true  pang  of  death,  as  he 
thought  of  the  helpless  condition  of  those  he  must  leave  to 
struggle  with  the  burden  he  was  so  glad  to  be  released  from. 

The  replies  of  Dr.  Wells  to  the  questions  addressed  to 
him  were  feeling,  though  true.  He  was  a  conscientious  man, 
and  he  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  the  real  condition  of  the 
patient  from  his  family.  He  gently  but  distinctly  informed 
Miss  Harrington  that  no  hope  of  recovery  remained  to  her 
brother;  that  his  heart  was  so  seriously  affected  that  any 
sudden  agitation  might  cause  his  death,  without  a  moment's 
warning. 

They  heard  the  fiat,  and  stifled  their  tears  that  they  might 
not  darken,  the  last  hours  of  existence  which  remained  to  him 
they  so  dearly  loved.  When  the  physciau  retired,  Mr.  Har- 
rington desired  to  be  left  alone  with  his  own  family.  As 
Louise  kissed  him  before  leaving  the  room  with  her  mother, 
he  whispered, 

"  Send  Victor  up  to  me  the  moment  he  arrives,  my  love." 

Then  he  motioned  his  children  to  draw  near  to  him  and 
gave  a  hand  to  each  one,  while  his  sister  stood  beside  his 
pillow,  and  laid  her  soft  clasp  upon  his  brow.  He  said, 

"  Gertrude,  I  leave  my  beloved  ones  to  your  care,  and  I  fear 
the  charge  I  bequeath  with  them  will  be  a  heavy  one." 

"  Dear  brother,  do  not  think  of  that  now.     I  stand  in  the 
23 


352 

place  of  a  mother  to  them,  and,  as  such,  I  will  endeavor  to 
shield  them  from  all  you  would  deprecate  for  them." 

"  Thank  you,  sister.  You  will  meet  your  reward  in  that 
land  where  earthly  ties  are  again  reunited.  The  doctor  said 
that  I  must  set  rny  house  in  order,  and  my  failing  breath 
warns  me  that  I  have  no  time  to  lose.  Gertrude,  your  pre- 
dictions have  proved  fatally  true.  The  speculations  I  was 
unfortunately  tempted  into,  failed ;  and  a  series  of  unlooked- 
for  disasters  have  since  followed,  to  be  consummated  by  the 
destruction  of  Wavertree.  I  know  that  I  am  ruined,  and 
God  takes  me  from  the  evil  to  come ;  but  ah !  he  leaves 
those  that  I  best  love  exposed  to  the  bitter  blast  of  impending 
poverty." 

"  Not  poverty,  brother,"  gently  said  Miss  Harrington. 
"  Something  can  be  saved  from  the  wreck,  and  that  our  own 
exertions  can  increase  to  a  competence." 

An  expression  of  bitter  pain  passed  over  his  features,  and 
he  feebly  prayed. 

"  0  God  of  infinite  mercy,  preserve  me  from  false  pride  in 

this  solemn  hour.     It  is  no  degredation  to  labor  forindepend- 

i  ence ;  then  why  do  I  shrink  from  it  in  your  case  ?     But  I 

\  had  so  earnestly  hoped  to  shield  my  darlings  from  the  evils 

of  life.     I  am  punished  sorely  for  the  grasping  spirit  which 

made  me  ask  for  more  for  the  sake  of  those  I  so  much  love." 

"It  was  but  natural,  brother.  Calm  yourself,  I  entreat, 
and  have  no  care  for  us.  Give  me  as  clear  an  account  as 
possible  of  the  condition  of  your  affairs ;  and  give  me  your 
directions,  that  I  may  endeavor  to  obey  them  as  literally  as 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  353 

After  a  pause,  in  which  he  seemed  collecting  his  thoughts, 
he  again  spoke. 

"  But  for  the  late  calamity,  you  could  have  remained  at 
Wavertree  until  the  estate  is  settled.  It  would  have  taken 
several  years  to  do  that,  and  eventually  enough  would  have 
been  left  to  enable  you  to  live  according  to  your  tastes.  But 
now,  there  is  only  one  course  to  be  pursued.  Surrender  the 
estate  at  once  to  my  creditors,  by  compromise.  There  will 
be  enough  to  pay  every  debt  I  owe,  and  leave  a  small  surplus, 
but  it  will  take  time.  To  get  the  property  into  their  own 
hands,  those  I  owe  will  readily  give  you  the  small  farm  four 
miles  back  on  False  river,  and  also  a  sufficient  number  of  the 
negroes  to  cultivate  it.  Thus  a  home  will  be  secured  to  you, 
and  no  man  can  say  that  in  dying  I  defrauded  him  of  a  cent 
that  was  his  due. 

"And  the  people,  sister — tell  them  that  I  remembered 
them ;  and  my  chief  creditor,  Mr.  Hall,  is  too  humane  a  man 
to  see  them  pass  into  the  possession  of  those  who  will  not 
kindly  treat  them.  See  to  this,  Gertrude,  or  I  can  not  die 
contented." 

"  We  will  care  for  that  first,  dear  father,"  murmured  Paul- 
ine. "  Have  no  uneasiness  on  your  mind  concerning  us,  for 
we  will  still  have  our  Father  in  heaven  to  care  for  us." 

"  And  He  is  mighty  to  raise  up  as  well  as  to  cast  down," 
said  Mr.  Harrington,  devoutly.  "  I  commit  you  to  Him,  dar- 
lings of  my  heart,  for  I  know  that  his  ways  are  right  and  just, 
however  mysterious  they  may  seem  to  our  darkened  vision." 

There  was  a  silence  some  moments,  and  then  he  again 
Bpoke  in  touching  accents  of  appeal. 


354  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

"  O  Victor,  my  son,  my  son,  in  this  solemn  hour,  why  are 
you  not  beside  me  ?  I  can  not  die  without  once  more  behold- 
ing you.  My  soul  will  cling  to  this  worn-out  frame,  I  feel, 
until  my  eyes  may  rest  upon  you  again." 

As  if  in  reply  to  this  yearning  wish,  the  door  softly  un- 
closed, and  what  seemed  but  the  shadow  of  Victor  glided 
toward  the  bed.  More  worn  and  emaciated  than  when  we 
last  beheld  him,  a  deep  fiery  glare  burned  in  his  dark  eyes, 
and  his  thin  lips  seemed  drawn  in  a  ghastly  manner  apart 
from  his  shining  teeth. 

That  some  terrible  and  all-absorbing  emotion  was  gnawing, 
vulture-like,  at  his  very  being,  was  painfully  apparent.  Much 
as  his  father  had  desired  to  behold  him,  he  shuddered  and 
closed  his  eyes  as  this  startling  vision  stood  beside  him  and 
touched  his  hand  with  his  own  clammy  one. 

In  a  deep,  monotonous  tone,  he  said, 

"You  wished  for  me,  and  I  am  here.  Father,  will  you 
not  look  on  me  ?" 

Thus  appealed  to,  Mr.  Harrington  unclosed  his  eyes  and 
gazed  upon  the  wreck  before  him.  He  asked, 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Victor  ?  and  why  have  you  so  long 
concealed  yourself  from  your  family  ?" 

"  Because  I  was  not  worthy  to  belong  to  them.  Where 
have  I  been,  do  you  ask  ?  I  have  been  in  bitterness — in 
temptation — in  guilt !  Yes,  guilt,  and  all  for  the  sake  of  one 
who  now  refuses  the  hand  that  has  so  dearly  gained  independ- 
ence for  her." 

"  What  can  you  mean,  my  poor  boy  ?  Independence  is 
not  gained  in  a  day,  nor  yet  in  a  month." 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  355 

"No — not  by  common  means;  but  mine  was  a  desperate 
case,  and  I  took  desperate  measures  to  retrieve  myself.  I  have 
watched  with  the  dead,  and  felt  my  hair  stiffen  with  horror  as 
I  saw  the  blue  flames  rising  from  their  graves — for  I  thought 
they  might  be  the  spirits  of  the  departed  come  to  warn  me 
from  the  sacrilege  I  meditated.  Yet  I  persevered.  I — yes,  I 
did  the  deed.  I  secured  the  sparkling  gems,  but  0  !  their 
touch  burns  me  here,  here,"  and  he  raised  his  hand  to  his 
forehead  with  a  pathetic  gesture. 

"After  all,  Louise  scorns  me.  Louise  tramples  on  my 
hopes.  She  knows  all !  well,  let  her  tell  it.  I  care  not  now, 
for  I  am  hopeless,  hopeless." 

There  was  an  indescribable  expression  of  utter  desola- 
tion in  the  tones  of  his  voice ;  his  words  sounded  dull  and 
hollow,  as  if  the  soul  took  no  cognizance  of  their  terrible 
meaning. 

Those  who  listened  fortunately  possessed  no  clew  to  their 
true  import,  and  they  thought  him  delirious. 

Adele  took  his  hand  and  tenderly  drew  him  toward  a 
seat. 

"You  look  weary  and  worn,  brother.  Sit  down  and 
rest." 

"  Rest — there  is  no  more  rest  for  me.  I  am  haunted  by 
a  useless  crime.  I  dared  every  thing  for  her,  and  she  has 
proved  false  to  me — false — false — " 

He  yielded  to  the  hand  of  his  sister,  and  passively  sat  down 
upon  the  chair  she  drew  forward  for  him ;  then  he  bent  his 
head  forward  and  wept  bitterly.  In  silence  the  father  gazed 
on  the  miserable  wreck  of  his  only  and  beloved  son,  and  his 


356  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

heart  was  filled  with  compassion  toward  him.  At  length  he 
mildly  said, 

"Victor,  you  are  young.  You  can  redeem  the  misspent 
years  of  your  life ;  and  your  father,  from  his  bed  of  death,  en- 
treats you  to  make  an  effort  to  do  so." 

Victor  only  wept  with  the  passionate  emotion  of  a  woman 
at  these  words.  Mr.  Harrington  proceeded  in  a  more  impress- 
ive manner, 

"My  son,  I  bequeath  to  you,  instead  of  the  fortune  I 
once  hoped  to  bestow  upon  you,  a  struggle  for  the  in- 
dependence every  man  should  be  willing  to  gain  for  him- 
self. You  will  be  the  sole  protector  of  your  aunt  and  sisters ; 
think  how  much  devolves  upon  you  by  my  departure, 
and  prove  yourself  worthy  of  the  precious  trust  confided 
to  you." 

Victor  checked  his  tears  at  these  'words,  and  regarded 
his  father  with  a  glassy  stare,  which  showed  imperfect 
consciousness  of  his  meaning.  But  one  word  seemed  to 
have  made  any  distinct  impression  on  him.  He  vaguely  re- 
peated, 

"Trust — no,  no — I  am  unworthy  of  trust.  Do  not  ask 
any  thing  of  that  sort  from  me  ;  because  I — I  'm  not  fit  to  ac- 
cept it." 

"Is  he  mad  ?"  asked  Mr.  Harrington,  despairingly.  "Must 
this  last  anguish  be  added  to  all  that  has  gone  before  ?" 

Miss  Harrington  had  taken  Victor's  hand  in  her  own,  and 
she  soothingly  replied, 

"  Be  not  alarmed,  brother ;  Victor  has  fever — he  is  deli- 
rious, not  mad.  He  must  be  put  to  bed  and  nursed.  Come 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  357 

with  me,  my  dear  boy,"  she  persuasively  continued.  "  Come 
into  my  room  and  lie  down  a  little  while ;  presently  you  will 
feel  better." 

Victor  arose,  and  pressing  his  hand  upon  his  brow,  seemed 
to  be  recalling  his  bewildered  senses.  An  expression  of 
softer  feeling  beamed  from  his  eyes  as  he  took  his  father's 
hand  and  pressed  it  reverently  to  his  lips  and  heart.  He 
said, 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  father,  for  all  the  anguish  I  have  occa- 
sioned you.  I  am  less  criminal  than  weak,  but  I  trust  in  God 
all  my  evil  deeds  may  never  be  revealed  to  you,  in  this  world 
nor  the  next.  Adele,  Pauline,  adieu  !  Watch  over  our  father, 
and  repay  him  for  my  ingratitude." 

With  a  more  collected  air,  he  followed  his  aunt  from  the 
room,  and  submitted  to  lie  upon  the  bed  in  her  own  apart- 
ment, and  take  some  composing  drops  which  she  pressed 
upon  him.  With  the  cunning  of  persons  whose  minds  are 
slightly  deranged,  he  knew  that  the  only  way  to  evade  her 
solicitude  was  to  follow  her  directions  implicitly. 

He  soon  closed  his  eyes,  and  seeing  him  apparently  quiet, 
Miss  Gertrude  ventured  to  return  to  her  brother,  leaving 
Victor,  she  trusted,  in  a  refreshing  sleep.  He  listened  to  her 
retreating  steps,  and  waited  until  voices  were  again  heard 
from  the  room  of  his  father,  speaking  in  guarded  tones.  Then 
he  cautiously  arose,  unclosed  a  door  that  opened  into  a  cen- 
tral hall  from  which  the  staircase  descended,  and  went  in  pur- 
suit of  his  false  love. 

Every  portion  of  the  house  was  familiar  to  him,  and  he 
knew  that  he  should,  probably,  find  Louise  in  the  drawing- 


358      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

room,  at  that  hour  of  the  evening.  He  had  not  seen  her 
since  her  note  cam&  to  him,  and  he  sought  her  now  with  a 
feeling  of  reckless  desperation,  which  might  impel  him  to  he 
knew  not,  cared  not,  what. 

He  noiselessly  opened  the  door  of  the  room,  and  looked  in. 
A  solar  lamp,  with  the  light  partly  turned  down,  diffused  a 
softened  tint  throughout  the  apartment.  The  evening  was 
warm,  and  two  large  windows  opening  upon  a  yard  filled 
with  shrubbery,  were  unclosed,  and  the  beams  of  a  young 
moon  fell  in  tremulous  lines  on  the  carpet.  This  room  was 
distant  from  those  usually  occupied  by  the  family,  and  Victor 
rejoiced  that  the  hours  for  receiving  visitors  for  the  evening 
were  past. 

Beside  one  of  the  windows  sat  Louise,  looking  paler  than 
usual,  and  he  fancied  that  a  tear  glittered  upon  her  cheek. 
He  advanced  so  softly  that  she  was  not  aware  of  his  pres- 
ence until  he  called  her  name.  She  nervously  started  up, 
and  as  she  caught  a  view  of  his  worn  features,  exclaimed, 

"  You  here,  Victor !  I  gave  orders  that  you  should  at 
once  be  taken  to  your  father's  room.  You  know  he  is  here  ? 
and — and — 0  Victor,  Dr.  Germain  thinks  that  he  can  not 
live  many  hours." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  Louise.  I  have  seen  him ;  have 
bidden  him  an  eternal  adieu;  and  now  all  that  remains  to  me 
on  earth  is  to  settle  with  you." 

There  was  something  sinister  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  and 
the  wild  gleam  of  his  eyes  startled  her  into  a  suspicion  of  the 
truth.  Trembling  with  fear,  she  faltered, 

"  What  can  you  mean,  cousin  ?" 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.      359 

"  To  take  with  me  to  the  Inferno  that  spirit  which  has  so 
wronged  and  outraged  mine.  Louise,  I  have  sworn  that  no 
living  man  shall  claim  you  as  his  bride,  save  myself.  How, 
think  you,  is  my  oath  to  be  accomplished  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  can  not  tell,"  she  faltered,  as  she  made  an 
effort  to  glide  past  him  and  reach  the  door.  He  intercepted 
her,  and  drawing  a  pistol  from  his  breast,  he  presented  it  to- 
ward her. 

"  I  will  enlighten  you,"  he  said.  "  Now  call  out,  or  at- 
tempt to  alarm  the  house,  and  I  use  this  weapon  even  before 
I  have  said  all  I  came  to  say." 

Louise  had  a  peculiar  dread  of  fire-arms,  and  she  felt  as  if 
she  should  become  insensible  from  terror ;  but  she  struggled 
against  her  fears,  with  the  consciousness  that  in  retaining  per- 
fect self-command  her  only  chance  of  safety  lay. 

She  said,  slowly,  and  with  outward  composure, 

"  Put  up  your  pistol,  Victor ;  it  might  accidentally  go  off, 
and  do  me  an  injury.  Such  an  accident  must  be  fatal  to 
your  father  in  his  present  condition.  Reflect  an  instant,  and 
you  will  see  that  I  have  not  deserved  such  unmanly  treat- 
ment from  you." 

Her  words  seemed  to  have  some  weight  with  him.  He 
placed  the  weapon  on  a  table  within  reach  of  his  hand,  and 
drew  forth  the  last  communication  she  had  sent  him. 

"Tell  me,  Louise,  what  this  production  means?  Have 
you  indeed  given  up  all  intention  of  fulfilling  the  troth  so 
often  and  so  solemnly  plighted  to  me  ?  What  do  you  mean 
by  the  words,  *  /  know  how  it  was  obtained]  referring  to  the 
independence  I  offered  to  share  with  you  ?n 


360 

There  was  an  evident  effort  to  preserve  his  calmness,  as  he 
thus  spoke,  but  his  voice  quivered  with  the  intensity  of  his 
emotion,  and  his  eyes  seemed  to  her  like  a  devouring  flame, 
as  he  fixed  them  on  her  whitening  features. 

How  Louise  wished  some  one  would  come  in  !  but  no  foot- 
steps approached.  She  feared  to  cry  out,  lest  the  excited 
being  before  her  should  destroy  her  before  assistance  could 
reach  her ;  and  she  read  that  in  his  face  which  assured  her 
that  he  was  desperate  enough  for  any  crime. 

She  did  not  reply,  and  he  held  the  lines  so  close  to  her 
face  as  almost  to  touch  it,  as  he  again  demanded, 

"Your  meaning — your  meaning?  I  must  know  if  you 
really  are  aware  of  all  I  have  dared  for  your  sake  ;  or  is  it  a 
pitiable  ruse  to  afford  you  an  excuse  for  your  most  heartless 
and  unwomanly  conduct  toward  me." 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  break  with  you,  Victor,"  she  pleaded. 
"  Your  own  acts  have  placed  a  barrier  between  us,  as  I  have 
there  stated." 

"  My  acts  ? — what  are  they  ?  How  did  you  know  them  ? 
Speak — tell  me,  what  could  I  do  that  would  render  me  un- 
worthy of  you,  false  and  hollow  piece  of  deceit  that  I  now 
know  you  to  be." 

"  Your  own  conscience  will  tell  you,  Victor,"  she  faintly 
said ;  for  her  courage  was  rapidly  giving  way  before  the  in- 
creasing fury  of  his  gestures  and  expression.  He  repeated, 

"  My  conscience  !  I  have  none,  I  tell  you.  It  was  buried 
long  since  in  the  grave  of  principle.  I  have  become  a  terror 
and  a  loathing  to  myself — and  all  through  you.  And  now, 
do  you  fancy  for  one  moment  that  I  will  ever  permit  Nevin 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  361 

to  snatch  you  from  me  ?  Tell  me  what  you  know,  or  my 
pistol  shall  at  once  do  its  predestined  work ;  its  fellow  is 
ready  to  release  me  from  the  consequences,  and  I  have  no 
compunction  in  using  them." 

Again  he  placed  his  hand  upon  the  weapon,  and  Louise 
felt  that  boldness  alone  could  now  save  her.  She  pressed  her 
hand  upon  her  heart,  to  still  its  rapid  beating,  and  said, 

"  Listen  to  me,  Victor,  and  do  not  endeavor  to  frighten  me 
thus,  for  I  can  not  believe  that  your  threats  are  made  in  earn- 
est. You  have  committed  a  fearful  crime  for  my  sake :  I 
pity  you ;  I  forgive  you ;  and  O,  Victor,  I  love  you  still.  Do 
not  be  so  harsh — so  cruel — you  break  my  heart  by  acting 
thus." 

At  the  allusion  to  his  crime,  Victor  shuddered,  and  cast  a 
fearful  glance  around.  He  spoke  in  a  whisper,  every  tone  of 
which  seemed  to  vibrate  with  horror. 

"  The  dead  gibbered  around  me — the  vault  seemed  lighted 
with  flames  from  the  Inferno ;  but  I  would  not  be  baulked. 
Ha !  look  here,  see  what  I  won  by  my  perseverance." 

He  drew  forth  a  casket  from  his  pocket,  and,  opening  it, 
the  flash  of  diamonds  of  singular  luster  and  purity,  was  seen. 
A  necklace  of  rose-diamonds,  of  large  size,  he  drew  forth, 
and  said,  with  a  ghastly  smile, 

"  See  how  I  can  afford  to  deck  you,  Louise." 

Before  she  was  aware  of  his  intention,  he  threw  it  over  her 
bare  neck.  The  touch  of  the  gems  which  had  so  lately  lain 
in  contact  with  the  dead  overpowerd  the  little  fortitude  Lou- 
ise retained,  and  she  sunk  back  insensible  on  the  crimson 
velvet  fauteuil  in  which  she  was  seated. 

16 


362 

Without  heeding  this,  Victor  proceeded  in  his  task.  He 
next  drew  forth  an  ornament  for  the  head,  in  the  shape  of  a 
coronet ;  this  he  carefully  placed,  then  clasped  the  rings  in 
the  ears,  the  bracelets  on  her  arms,  and  then  lifting  the  nerve- 
less hand,  he  placed  in  it  the  miniature  scepter  of  which 
]N"evin  had  spoken. 

When  all  was  done,  he  stood  off  and  viewed  the  effect. 
The  delicate  and  colorless  features  of  the  insensible  girl,  con- 
trasted with  the  crimson  back-ground  against  which  she 
reclined,  looked  pure  as  marble.  Her  evening  dress,  of  a  pale 
rose  tint,  was  cut  so  as  to  leave  the  fair  neck  and  rounded 
arms  partially  bared  ;  and  the  blaze  of  the  jewels  in  the 
lamp-light,  might,  at  a  first  glance,  have  induced  one  to  be 
lieve  that  she  was  in  grand  toilette  for  some  gay  assemblage ; 
but  a  second  look  at  the  fixed  features  and  closed  eyes  would 
have  startled  the  beholder  into  the  belief  that  death  was  only 
mocked  with  this  semblance  of  splendor. 

Victor  contemplated  her  in  silence  several  moments,  then 
he  kneeled  before  her,  and  said, 

"  My  queen  of  love  and  beauty,  once — now  my  queen  of 
death — most  royally  art  thou  decked  for  the  sacrifice.  Ha ! 
ha !  will  not  Nevin  learn  that  his  gems  are  well  bestowed  ? 
even  on  her  to  whom  he  would  have  given  them  himself. 
But  I  am  beforehand  with  him.  I  have  the  advantage  this 
time,  and  I  mean  to  keep  it." 

He  kissed  the  hand  of  the  insensible  girl — her  lifeless  lips 
— her  brow,  again,  and  again.  Then  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  second  pistol,  and  lifting  the  one  on  the  table,  he 
pointed  it  toward  the  heart  of  Louise.  The  other  he  placed 


363 

where  his  hand  could  grasp  it  the  instant  he  dropped  the 
first. 

Then  the  madman  paused ;  and  fixing  his  eyes  adoringly 
upon  the  face  he  had  so  worshiped,  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  en- 
treaty, 

"  Forgive  me,  darling,  best  loved  one.  I  take  you  from  a 
world  that  can  only  bring  sorrow  to  your  heart,  and  a  blight 
upon  your  loveliness.  I  will  not  mar  your  beauty,  my  flower 
of  Paradise;  through  your  heart  the  messenger  of  release 
shall  go,  and  you  will  not  even  feel  the  pain  of  death." 

He  raised  himself  on  one  knee,  and  deliberately  took  aim 
at  the  left  side  of  the  defenseless  girl,  who  had  not  yet  ex- 
hibited the  slightest  sign  of  returning  consciousness.  Not  a 
muscle  trembled,  as  he  slowly  raised  his  finger  to  touch  the 
deadly  trigger. 

In  another  instant  Louise  would  have  been  beyond  help, 
when  a  swift  step  came  noiselessly  over  the  carpet,  and  a  firm 
hand  dashed  up  the  weapon,  with  the  exclamation, 

"  Madman !  what  would  you  do  ?" 

Victor  struggled  violently,  for  he  recognized  the  voice  of 
his  rival,  and  he  endeavored  to  turn  the  weapon  against  him. 
Kevin  wrenched  his  arm  with  a  grasp  of  iron ;  as  the  pistol 
came  in  contact  with  the  body  of  the  hapless  young  man,  it 
exploded,  and  the  meditated  assassin  received  the  load  in  his 
own  heart. 

Victor  fell  dead  upon  the  floor,  and  the  report  seemed  to 
arouse  Louise  from  her  death-like  swoon,  for  she  unclosed  her 
eyes,  and  looked  vacantly  around.  Nevin  snatched  her  in  his 
arms,  as  if  she  had  been  a  child,  and  rushed  toward  the  door, 


364 

meeting  in  his  precipitate  retreat  the  affrighted  members  ot 
the  household,  hurrying  to  the  scene  of  blood. 

"  My  daughter — what  has  happened  to  my  daughter  ?" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Kuskin,  as  she  arrested  him  on  the  threshold. 

"  Your  daughter  is  safe,  but  frightened  into  insensibility  by 
the  mad  boy  who  lies  yonder  in  death,  madam.  Let  me 
place  Louise  in  a  place  of  safety,  and  I  will  explain  what  I 
know  of  this  terrible  affair." 

Mrs.  Ruskin  at  once  led  the  way  into  her  own  chamber. 
By  the  time  Louise  was  placed  on  the  bed,  the  recollection 
of  what  had  recently  passed  between  herself  and  Victor  came 
vividly  back  to  her ;  and  she  started  up,  exclaiming, 

"  Where  is  my  cousin  ?  What  has  become  of  him  ?"  then 
catching  the  gleam  of  the  jewels  that  still  decked  her  person, 
she  frantically  tore  them  off. 

"Take  them  away — take  them  away.  That  madman 
must  have  decked  me  in  them  after  I  became  insensible.  O, 
where  is  he  ?  will  no  one  tell  me  what  has  become  of  him  ?" 

"  He  is  safe,  Louise,"  replied  Nevin,  gravely.  "  He  has  no 
longer  the  power  to  harm  you." 

She  regarded  him  with  a  frightened  air — and  then  she  said, 
in  a  faint  tone, 

"  You  have  regained  your  jewels.  You — you  will  cease  all 
inquiry — quash  all  proceedings  against  him  ?" 

"It  is  already  done,  Louise,  by  a  higher  power  than 
mine." 

She  comprehended  him  at  once,  and  vailing  her  eyes  with 
her  hand,  she  said, 

"Lord — Lord   of  mercy,   pardon  for  me — for  him,"  and 


* 


365 

sunk  back  exhausted  by  the  various  emotions  she  had  endured 
within  the  last  few  hours. 

This  was  no  time  to  question  her  concerning  what  had  pre- 
ceeded  her  swoon,  and  Nevin  left  the  house  to  meet  at  once 
the  inquiry  he  knew  must  be  made  into  the  catastrophe  of 
the  evening.  He  immediately  went  to  the  office  of  a  magis- 
trate and  recounted  the  particulars  of  the  struggle  between 
himself  and  young  Harrington.  He  stated  that  he  had  visited 
Mrs.  Euskin's  family  early  in  the  evening,  but  having  an 
engagement  elsewhere,  he  left  about  eight  o'clock  for  the 
purpose  of  fulfilling  it.  On  his  return  home,  it  was  a  little 
out  of  his  way  to  pass  the  house  again,  but  he  was  impelled 
to  do  so,  he  knew  not  why.  On  reaching  it  the  lights  in  the 
drawing-room  were  still  burning,  and  although  it  was  then 
past  ten  o'clock,  the  same  internal  monitor  bade  him  enter. 
He  did  so,  and  was  just  in  time  to  save  the  life  of  the  eldest 
daughter  of  the  family  from  the  weapon  of  a  madman ;  for 
there  was  every  evidence  to  believe  that  Victor  Harrington 
was  no  longer  in  a  condition  to  be  accountable  for  his  actions. 
In  the  struggle  that  ensued  the  pistol  exploded,  taking  the 
life  of  the  unfortunate  young  man. 

As  no  previous  ill-feeling  was  known  to  have  existed  be- 
tween them,  his  statement  was  received  without  question,  and 
a  verdict  of  accidental  death  returned  by  the  coroner. 

Thus  a  life  in  its  early  prime  passed  into  oblivion,  without 
a  record  of  any  thing  save  weakness  and  a  want  of  self-con- 
trol. How  many  such  go  up  among  the  vast  throng  hourly 
crowding  toward  the  portals  of  eternity,  who  shall  say  ?  To 
them,  how  awful  must  be  the  award  of  Him  who  gave  the 
noble  boon  of  life  in  vain. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

WHILE  these  terrible  scenes  were  enacting  below,  Miss 
Gertrude  had  resumed  her  position  beside  the  bed  of  her 
brother,  and  listened  to  his  last  directions  with  an  earnest 
desire  to  comprehend  them  in  such  a  manner  as  to  render 
their  execution  comparatively  easy.  Mrs.  Ruskin  was  sum- 
moned to  the  room,  and  received  from  Mr.  Harrington  ample 
security  for  the  money  due  to  her  children.  No  temptation 
had  been  strong  enough  to  induce  him  to  use  any  portion  of 
it  for  the  relief  of  his  own  embarrassments.  She  accepted  it 
with  ill-concealed  joy ;  for  she  had  been  reflecting  on  the  best 
means  of  bringing  forward  her  claims  at  once,  from  the 
moment  she  saw  the  precarious  condition  of  her  brother-in- 
law.  She  said, 

"  Thank  you — this  is  very  considerate,  and  only  anticipates 
what  I  must  have  demanded  in  a  few  weeks.  The  marriage 
of  Louise  would  have  rendered  a  settlement  necessary." 

Mr.  Harrington  sighed  as  he  recalled  the  wasted  wreck  he 
had  so  lately  looked  on ;  he  said, 

"  Louise  has  then  entirely  given  up  my  poor  boy  ?" 

"Of  course;  what  could  you  expect,  brother?  Louise 
marries  a  man  of  great  wealth  :  Victor  could  give  her  neither 
home  nor  position." 


367 

"  That,  alas !  is  too  true.  Let  us  not  speak  of  what  is  so 
painful  to  me.  Gertrude — my  children,  have  patience  with 
the  lorn  and  blighted  life  of  my  poor  boy.  Lead  him  back, 
by  gentle  means,  to  hope  and  happiness.  Teach  him  wherein 
lies  the  true  life,  and  seek  to  elevate  him  to  your  own  noble 
standard." 

"  We  will — we  pledge  ourselves  to  make  every  effort  to  do 
so,"  was  the  reply  of  those  to  whom  he  addressed  himself. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  privately  thought  the  task  thus  undertaken  at 
least  a  very  difficult  one  to  perform,  and  by  no  means  certain 
as  to  the  result,  but  she  wisely  said  nothing. 

"  Do  not  weary  yourself  with  talking  so  much,  dear  father," 
pleaded  Adele.  Mr.  Harrington  faintly  smiled,  as  he  replied, 

"Any  sudden  excitement  may  seal  my  lips  forever,  my 
darling,  I  feel  from  the  rapid  pulsation  of  my  poor  old  heart ; 
and  I  must  speak  what  is  on  my  mind  before  I  go.  My  next 
words  are  for  you,  Adele.  Philip  loves  you ;  he  has  told  me 
so  himself;  and  I  know  that  he  is  worthy  of  you.  I  once 
hoped  to  live  and  retain  him  near  me,  where  I  could  provide 
for  the  happy  future  of  both — for  you  are  not  indifferent  to 
him,  I  believe.  Is  it  not  so,  my  love  ?" 

Adele  bowed  her  head,  and  murmured, 

"  I  will  not  deny  it,  father." 

"  That  is  right,  my  love ;  Evelyn  will  wish  you  to  unite 
your  fate  to  his  at  once ;  but  hearken  to  the  advice  of  your 
best  friend,  and  remember  it  when  I  am  gone.  In  their 
change  of  fortune,  your  aunt  and  sister  will  need  your  pres- 
ence for  a  while,  to  brighten  their  home,  for  yours  is  now 
the  glad  spirit  of  our  household,  and  you  must  not  permit 


368      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

my  loss  to  weigh  you  down.  Remember  that  I  go  really  to 
a  better  land,  from  which  I  sincerely  believe  I  shall  be  per- 
mitted to  watch  over  your  welfare.  Promise  me,  all  of 
you,  that  you  will  check  your  grief  for  my  loss,  that  you 
will  seek  such  sunshine  as  life  may  now  offer  to  you." 

The  promise  was  tearfully  given,  and  he  again  pro- 
ceeded, 

"  Let  Philip  return  to  his  own  home  and  seek  such  em- 
ployment as  may  afford  him  a  competence.  Let  the  grass 
grow  above  my  last  resting-place,  and  then,  my  daughter, 
seek  your  new  home  with  its  cares  and  pleasures,  bearing  to 
it  a  hopeful  heart.  That  Providence  which  uprooted  and 
destroyed  one  earthly  abiding-place,  will,  I  feel  assured,  smile 
on  the  creation  of  another,  in  which  will  dwell  two  good  and 
true  spirits,  that  love  and  trust  each  other." 

"  Dearest  father,  it  shall  be  as  you  desire,"  murmured  the 
weeping  girl.  He  passed  his  hand  caressingly  over  her  bowed 
head,  and  then  drew  Pauline  toward  him. 

"  This  blow  will  be  hardest  for  you  to  sustain,  my  daughter. 
Bear  it  patiently,  meekly,  and  He  who  sent  it  will,  in  his  own 
good  time,  also  send  peace  to  the  desolate  chambers  of  your 
soul." 

"  If  I  could  only  go  with  you,"  she  sobbed.  "  Of  what  use 
can  my  weary  life  be  to  any  one,  when  I  almost  feel  it  as  a 
burden  to  myself?" 

I    "My  love,  you  have   suffered   deeply.      Thus   you  have 
learned  compassion  for  those  who  have  also  felt  the  chasten- 
ing hand  of  affliction.     It  will  teach  you  to  be  tender  to  the 
/    erring ;  to  bind  up  the  broken  heart  and  minister  to  the 


369 

bruised  spirit.  Such  are  God's  angels  on  earth ;  remember 
that  our  divine  Master  was  '  a  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted 
with  grief.' " 

"  I  do  remember  it.  I  have  tried  to  conquer  myself.  I  have 
prayed ;  but  the  passionate  human  spirit  refused  to  be  com- 
forted. Christ  was  divine—" 

"  And  also  human  :  in  weighing  his  sufferings,  do  not  for- 
get that,  my  darling,  and  then,  perhaps,  you  will  have  a  truer 
comprehension  of  them.  Struggle  against  your  own  weak- 
ness, and  He  will  send  the  strength  of  His  divine  faith,  to 
comfort  and  sustain  you." 

"  I  promise  to  make  the  effort,"  said  the  poor  girl,  weeping 
convulsively ;  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  last  tie  that  bound 
her  to  life  was  about  to  be  severed. 

Presently  Mr.  Harrington  spoke  to  his  sister, 

"  What  did  you  propose  to  do,  Gertrude,  when  yon  alluded 
to  your  own  efforts  to  increase  the  pittance  I  shall  be  enabled 
to  leave  you  f J> 

"  The  Grange  is  situated  in  a  thickly-populated  neighbor- 
hood, where  there  are  many  wealthy  people.  The  first  idea 
that  occurred  to  me,  was  to  establish  a  select  school  there. 
You  know  that  my  education  originally  fitted  me  for  that 
sphere,  and  the  supervision  I  maintained  over  that  of  your 
daughters  has  not  permitted  my  attainments  to  grow  rusty. 
I  can  be  the  head  of  the  establishment,  while  Pauline  and 
Adele  assist  in  the  department  of  music  and  modern  lan- 
guages." 

"  It  is  a  good  thought,"  he  began,  but  Mrs.  Ruskin  uncere- 
moniously broke  in, 

16* 


370 

"  What !  will  you  lower  yourself  so  much  ?  Will  you 
lose  caste  by  attempting  to  do  any  thing  toward  your  own 
support  when  there  will  really  be  no  absolute  necessity 
for  it  ?" 

She  appeared  quite  excited,  and  Miss  Gertrude  quietly  re- 
plied, 

"  It  seems  to  me  that,  in  a  country  like  ours,  no  honorable 
employment  that  brings  independence,  should  be  thus  spoken 
of.  The  loss  of  caste  you  refer  to,  is,  I  presume,  only  loss 
of  wealth ;  and  included  with  that,  of  course,  the  de- 
sertion of  the  summer  friends  that  flutter  around  the  pros- 
perous." 

Mrs.  Ruskin  only  looked  scornfully,  and  asked, 

"  What  need  will  there  be  of  such  extreme  measures  1  The 
estate  must  leave  at  least  a  support  for  you  all,  after  it  is 
wound  up." 

"  A  bare  support,  which  we  will  make  an  independence ; 
for  we  are  neither  afraid  nor  ashamed  to  labor,"  replied  Miss 
Harrington.  "  The  small  pittance  that  can  honestly  be  res- 
cued from  my  brother's  property  might  afford  a  mere  living 
for  us,  stripped  of  every  refinement  and  every  elegance  to 
which  we  have  been  accustomed.  Is  it  not  far  better  to  use 
our  own  abilities  to  procure  those  things  than  to  feel  the 
want  of  them  every  day  ?  and,  in  the  absence  of  employment, 
probably,  to  repine  at  their  loss  ?  That  is  one  view,  and  the 
most  selfish  one.  On  the  other  hand,  we  may  become  the 
means  of  accomplishing  much  good  to  others,  in  the  new 
path  opened  before  us." 

Mrs.  Ruskin  replied,  with  a  sneer, 


371 

"  You  always  had  the  strangest  ideas,  Gertrude,  that  ever 
any  woman  of  good  sense  before  entertained.  Pray  let  this 
mad  scheme  alone,  until  my  nieces  have  time  to  look  around 
them.  Adele  may  marry  in  such  a  manner  as  to  render  any 
thing  of  this  kind  unnecessary.  She  is  so  uncommonly  hand- 
some that  even  without  fortune  she  can  choose  among  those 
•who  can  save  her  from  this." 

This  discussion  carried  on,  in  such  a  tone,  before  her  fathei 
in  his  present  condition,  shocked  Adele,  and  she  raised  her 
head,  and  replied  to  her  unfeeling  aunt, 

"  I  shall  never  barter  myself  for  wealth  to  obviate  the 
necessity  of  using  the  faculties  nature  has  bestowed  on  me. 
So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  will  aid  Aunt  Gertrude  with 
heart  and  hand." 

"  And  I  also,"  said  Pauline,  decisively,  as  she  arose,  and, 
crossing  the  room,  brought  her  prayer-book  back  with  her. 
To  end  the  discussion  which  she  saw  was  painful  to  her 
father,  she  asked  him  if  she  should  read  aloud  to  him  a  por- 
tion of  the  visitation  to  the  sick. 

"  Thank  you,  my  love,"  he  said — "  I  will  gladly  listen  to  it 
— to-morrow  I  will  see  a  clergyman;  to-night  be  you  my 
spiritual  ministrant." 

He  smiled  fondly  on  her,  and  she  sat  down  where  the  light 
from  the  shaded  lamp  fell  upon  the  page.  All  composed 
themselves  to  listen,  and  Mr.  Harrington  lay  with  his  eyes 
closed  as  the  sweet  tones  of  the  reader  floated  around  him. 
In  many  of  the  most  consoling  portions  his  lips  moved  as  if 
he  repeated  the  words  after  her,  and  never  had  they  seemed 
so  significant  to  him. 


372 

"When  slie  had  concluded,  her  father  said, 

"  The  works  of  Franklin  are  here,  I  know.  Get  the  vol- 
ume containing  his  letter  to  Miss  Hubbard,  on  the  death  of 
his  brother,  and  read  it  to  me."  Mr.  Harrington  then  told 
her  the  volume  and  page  in  which  she  would  find  it,  showing 
that  he  was  perfectly  familiar  with  it  already.  Pauline  left 
the  room  a  few  moments,  and  soon  returned  with  the  book ; 
and  the  sick  man  listened  with  rapt  attention  as  she  read  the 
beautiful  and  consoling  language  there  found  on  the  subject 
of  death.  He  wrote, 

"  We  have  lost  a  most  dear  and  valuable  relation.  But  it 
is  the  will  of  God  and  nature  that  these  mortal  bodies  be  laid 
aside  when  the  soul  is  to  enter  into  real  life.  This  is  rather 
an  embryo  state :  a  preparation  for  living.  A  man  is  not 
completely  born  until  he  is  dead.  Why  then  should  we 
grieve  that  a  new  child  is  born  among  the  immortals  ?  a  new 
member  added  to  their  happy  society?  We  are  spirits. 
That  bodies  should  be  lent  us  while  they  can  afford  us  pleas- 
ure, assist  us  in  acquiring  knowledge,  or  doing  good  to  our 
fellow-creatures,  is  a  kind  and  benevolent  act  of  God.  When 
they  become  unfit  for  these  purposes,  and  afford  us  pain  in- 
stead of  pleasure — instead  of  an  aid,  become  an  incumbrance, 
and  answer  none  of  the  intentions  for  which  they  were  given, 
it  is  equally  kind  and  benevolent  that  a  way  is  provided  by 
which  we  may  get  rid  of  them. 

"  Death  is  that  way.  We  ourselves,  in  some  cases,  pru- 
dently choose  a  partial  death.  A  mangled,  painful  limb, 
which  can  not  be  restored,  we  willingly  cut  off.  He  who 
plucks  out  a  tooth,  parts  with  it  freely,  since  the  pain  goes 


373 

with  it ;  and  he  who  quits  the  whole  body,  parts  at  once  with 
all  pains  and  possibilities  of  pains  and  diseases  it  was  liable 
to,  or  capable  of  making  him  suffer." 

"  Our  friend  and  we  were  invited  abroad  on  a  party  of 
pleasure  which  is  to  last  forever.  His  chair  was  ready  first, 
and  he  is  gone  before  us.  We  could  not  conveniently  start 
together ;  and  why  should  you  and  I  be  grieved  at  this,  since 
we  are  soon  to  follow,  and  know  where  to  find  him? 

She  ceased,  and  Mr.  Harrington  said, 

"  How  beautiful,  how  consoling,  is  such  a  view  of  the  inev- 
itable parting  of  soul  and  body ;  and  I  more  than  ever  real- 
ize how  true  are  his  sublime  consolations.  Read  those  words 
again,  and  yet  again,  my  beloved  ones,  when  I  am  no  longer 
with  you,  and  they  will  speak  peace  to  your  souls.  We  gaze 
with  silent  awe  into  the  dimming  eyes  in  which  flickers  the 
last  expiring  gleams  of  that  intelligence  which  has  illumined 
earth :  which  is  soon  to  mingle  among  angels  to  claim  the 
bright  reward  of  a  struggle  well  sustained — then  why  should 
we  grieve  for  the  departure  of  such  a  one  ?  0  death  !  best 
and  truest  friend  of  humanity  !  why  have  the  fears  and  super- 
stitions of  man  made  thee  a  grisly  phantom  of  terror  ?  The 
flower  falleth  to  the  earth,  and  from  its  seed  springs  a  richer 
abundance  in  the  future ;  so  shall  the  soul  of  man  expand  as 
a  flower  in  the  glories  of  the  perfect  day." 

While  this  Christian  and  philosopher  thus  discoursed  on 
the  approach  of  the  shining  angel,  a  profound  stillness  reigned 
throughout  the  mansion ;  suddenly  this  was  interrupted  by 
the  report  of  a  pistol  which  rang  sharp,  clear,  and  distinct 
through  the  silence  of  night. 


- 


374  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  rushed  from  the  room,  and  Mr.  Harrington 
started  up  with  an  exclamation  :  the  sudden  rush  of  blood 
through  his  heart  was  more  than  his  exhausted  condition 
could  bear,  and  he  had  scarcely  gained  an  upright  position, 
when  he  fell  back,  dead. 

Thus  did  Heaven,  in  its  mercy,  spare  him  a  knowledge 
of  what  was  passing  below.  The  angel  of  death  folded  him 
in  his  shining  mantle  and  bore  him  to  that  "  home  eternal  in 
the  heavens,  prepared  for  them  that  love  God  and  keep  His 
commandments." 

Occupied  with  this  sudden  catastrophe,  those  around  him 
did  not  leave  the  apartment  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  tumult 
below  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Ruskin  at  last  returned,  it  was  easy 
for  her  to  account  for  it  in  a  plausible  manner,  without  be- 
traying the  terrible  scene  that  had  ended  so  tragically.  That 
Victor  had  again  disappeared  they  soon  knew  ;  but  his  move- 
ments of  late  had  been  so  erratic,  that  much  as  they  were  dis- 
tressed at  his  apparent  want  of  respect  to  the  last  rites  due  to 
his  father,  they  never  suspected  the  truth. 

Many  weeks  after  his  quiet  burial,  the  sisters  were  informed 
of  his  accidental  death  from  the  explosion  of  a  pistol  he  held 
carelessly  in  his  hand ;  but  the  particulars  were  never  made 
known  to  them.  They  were  shocked  and  grieved  at  such  a 
catastrophe ;  but  after  the  first  sorrow  had  passed  away  they 
submitted  to  that  wisdom  which  had  seen  fit  to  cut  short  a 
life  which  promised  no  good  result ;  and  in  all  human  proba- 
bility would  have  been  filled  with  much  that  was  evil. 

Miss  Harrington  followed  the  injunctions  of  her  brother  as 
literally  as  possible.  The  creditors  were  surprised  at  the  ofier 


375 

made  to  them  to  compromise  at  once,  and  did  so  with  more 
liberality  than  she  anticipated.  The  Grange,  a  small  place 
containing  about  fifty  acres  of  land,  and  such  improvements 
as  rendered  it  habitable,  together  with  six  negroes,  to  be  se- 
lected by  themselves,  were  secured  to  the  daughters  of 
Mr.  Harrington,  and  the  estate  passed  into  the  hands  of 
strangers. 

The  plantation  of  Wavertree  was  a  desolate  waste.  The 
subsiding  waters  left  an  immense  deposit  of  sand  which 
choked  up  the  drains ;  all  the  houses  had  been  undermined 
by  the  flood,  and  were  in  a  state  of  dilapidation.  The  man- 
sion was  an  utter  wreck.  One  visit  was  made  to  it  by  its 
late  inmates,  but  they  suffered  so  much  in  beholding  the  ruin 
of  their  beloved  home  that  a  tacit  resolution  was  made  by 
each  one  never  again  to  seek  the  spot  where  so  much  happi- 
ness had  once  dwelt. 

The  negroes  were  sold  to  a  neighboring  proprietor,  to 
whom  they  chose  to  go  ;  and  a  most  trying  scene  it  was  to 
the  sisters  when  they  came  to  bid  adieu  to  those  under  whose 
rule  they  had  hoped  to  live  and  die.  Cries,  sobs,  and  bene- 
dictions were  heard  on  every  side,  and  the  young  ladies 
wept  with  them  at  the  inevitable  separation. 

They  were  permitted  to  select  those  they  were  to  retain, 
and  a  difficult  task  ,it  was  to  choose  among  so  many,  all 
equally  anxious  to  be  the  favored  ones.  With  many  tears 
and  much  heart-breaking  emotion,  the  choice  was  finally 
made,  and  then  they  reproached  themselves  for  the  preference 
they  had  shown  the  chosen  ones,  when  they  heard  the  bless- 


376  THE    PLANTER    S    DAUGHTER. 

ings  of  the  others,  and  their  assurances  that  "  they  had  done 
for  the  best,  and  as  all  could  not  go,  it  was  but  right  that 
they  should  select  such  as  could  be  most  useful  to  them  in 
their  new  mode  of  life." 


CHAPTER    XXYIII. 

WE  have  hurried  over  the  painful  events  in  the  life  of  our 
fair  heroines  which  the  last  few  weeks  had  unfolded ;  because 
such  things,  though  almost  of  daily  occurrence,  are  too  full  of 
anguish  to  be  dwelt  on,  even  by  the  pen  of  the  story-teller. 
How  many  of  the  incidents  of  this  "  ower  true  tale"  will  come 
home,  as  a  sad  reality  of  by-gone  years,  to  hearts  that  have 
been  rived  to  their  very  core  by  such  family  ruin  as  we  have 
just  depicted,  from  that  actual  experience  which  enables  us  to 
turn  back  in  fancy  to  that  terrible  hour 

"  When  hearts  were  gushing  in  pale  despair, 
O'er  the  joys  of  the  home  no  longer  there.'; 

We  will  now  follow  the  three  severely-tried  ones  to  their 
new  abode.  The  Grange  was  situated  several  miles  from  the 
river  on  a  romantic  lake  which  is  supposed  once  to  have  been 
a  portion  of  the  Mississippi  thrown  into  its  present  isolated 
position  by  the  impetuous  current  forcing  its  way  through  a 
new  channel,  thus  leaving  this  long  shining  reach  of  water  in- 
sulated and  calm.  It  is  many  miles  in  extent,  and  bears  all 
the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the  Father  of  Waters,  save  that 
its  banks  are  green  and  sloping,  and  offer,  in  many  places, 
exquisite  nooks  in  which  the  disciples  of  Isaac  Walton  may 


378  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

find  as  rare  sport  as  ever  was  chronicled  even  by  that  enthu- 
siast in  angling. 

The  house  fronted  a  curve  in  the  lake,  and  four  gigantic 
forest  trees  interlaced  their  branches  over  the  green  bank  that 
fell  in  natural  terraces  toward  the  water.  A  small  yard  filled 
with  fruit-trees,  mingled  with  a  few  magnolias  of  large  size, 
was  in  front  of  the  cottage.  This  was  of  wood  painted  white, 
with  a  light  green  verandah  in  front,  over  which  a  rose-bush 
twined  its  luxuriant  creepers. 

The  place  had  been  improved  by  a  French  creole,  and  in 
accordance  with  their  usual  custom,  in  place  of  building  one 
large  house,  several  smaller  ones  had  been  preferred.  The 
central  cottage  contained  three  rooms — two  in  front,  open- 
ing on  the  verandah,  and  one  the  whole  length  of  the  build- 
ing, in  the  rear.  These  were  appropriated  as  parlor,  dining- 
room,  and  bed-room  by  Miss  Harrington  and  her  nieces,  and 
such  furniture  as  had  been  saved  from  the  wreck  at  Waver- 
tree  was  transferred  to  them. 

There  were  two  smaller  houses  on  either  side  of  the  yard, 
facing  toward  the  principal  cottage.  Q^e  of  these  contained 
two  rooms  fitted  up  for  guests ;  the  other  had  been  converted 
into  a  school-room,  by  tearing  away  the  partition  which 
divided  the  apartments,  and  throwing  them  into  one.  This 
was  well  shaded,  and  kept  with  delicate  attention  to  neatness. 

This  was  a  very  paradise  of  a  school-room ;  and  the  young 
faces  that  peeped  forth  from  its  shelter  during  the  week  were 
as  bright  and  sparkling  as  health,  happiness,  and  employment 
could  make  them.  Miss  Gertrude  possessed  the  rare  tact  of 
gaining  the  affectionate  respect  of  her  pupils,  and  they  vied 


379 

with  each  other  in  endeavoring  to  obtain  her  approbation : 
and  each  young  heart  in  the  school  felt  it  to  be  a  privilege  to 
be  instructed  by  the  lovely  sisters. 

Pauline,  with  her  pale  pensive  face,  and  subdued  manner, 
seemed  to  them  like  a  pure  spirit  from  some  higher  sphere, 
lent  for  a  while  to  this,  to  show  the  beauty  of  self-abnegation 
to  these  young  being,  born  to  bear  the  burden  of  that  life 
which  must  inevitably  bring  with  it  sorrow,  struggle,  tempta- 
tion, and  death. 

In  Adele  they  beheld  the  incarnation  of  beauty  of  soul,  in 
a  physical  frame  worthy  to  enshrine  it ;  and  each  one  thought 
in  her  heart  that  the  seraphs  in  heaven  could  not  be  more 
beautiful,  or  more  angelic  in  temper  than  their  lovely  h> 
structress. 

The  necessity  of  immediate  exertion  had  been  an  inexpress- 
ible benefit  to  the  bereaved  family.  Unavailing  sorrow,  over 
losses  that  were  irreparable  was  forcibly  repressed ;  that,  as 
far  as  possible,  they  might  fulfill  the  last  wishes  of  him  whose 
memory  was  reverently  and  tenderly  cherished  by  them ;  and 
every  energy  was  tasked  to  execute  their  plans  without 
delay. 

Philip  Evelyn  remained  with  them  until  they  were  settled 
in  their  new  home,  and  the  school  fairly  under  way.  The 
desire  to  establish  such  a  seminary  was  eagerly  responded  to 
by  the  most  intelligent  families  in  the  vicinity,  who  were 
anxious  to  educate  their  daughters  without  sending  them  from 
home.  The  accomplishments  of  the  teachers  insured  them 
more  than  the  limited  number  of  pupils  they  were  willing  to 
take ;  and  in  the  occupation  thus  afforded,  they  found  tempo- 


380  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

rary  forge tfulness  of  their  recent  afflictions,  if  not  oblivion  to 
them. 

It  was  a  bright  evening  in  early  Autumn :  it  was  Friday 
evening;  the  labors  of  the  week  were  over,  and  the  little 
family  hailed  the  interval  of  repose  offered  by  the  two  days 
to  come  with  feelings  of  quiet  gratitude  that  the  path  they 
had  so  resolutely  and  nobly  opened  for  themselves  had,  thus 
far,  been  so  easy  to  walk  in.  They  still  sat  beneath  their  own 
vine  and  fig-tree,  independent,  and  blessed  with  contentment 
in  the  society  and  affection  of  each  other. 

On  this  evening  the  servant  had  been  to  the  post-office, 
and  brought  back  letters  for  each  one.  Miss  Gertrude  and 
Pauline  sat  on  the  verandah  and  read  theirs,  while  Adele  tooi 
hers  and  strolled  down  to  a  quiet  nook  on  the  edge  of  the 
lake,  where  she  sat  down  beneath  an  old  tree  to  peruse  the 
beautiful  effusions  of  heart-felt  affection  addressed  to  her  by 
her  absent  lover. 

Miss  Harrington's  letter  was  from  Mrs.  Ruskin,  and  it  was 
filled  with  complaints  that  after  all  the  expense  of  preparing 
a  bridal  trousseau  for  Louise  suited  to  the  position  she  was  to 
occupy  as  the  wife  of  Kevin,  the  match  was  likely  to  prove  a 
failure.  The  gentleman  had  perversely  taken  the  idea  into 
his  head  that  he  was  not  first  in  the  affections  of  her  daughter. 

Nevin,  she  said,  was  about  to  embark  for  Europe  with  their 
ci-devant  friend,  Mr.  Malcolm,  who  had  suddenly  appeared  in 
the  city  after  several  months'  absence,  no  one  knew  where,  as 
he  did  not  choose  to  enlighten  them.  There  was  much  more 
in  the  same  querulous  strain,  and  the  writer  ended  by  signing 
herself  the  most  unfortunate  and  ill-used  woman  in  the  world. 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  381 

Louise  had  also  written  to  Pauline  with  much  of  her  usual 
flippancy.  She  said, 

"  Ma  is  groaning  in  spirit  over  the  desertion  of  Mr.  Nevin, 
as  she  chooses  to  consider  it.  /  do  not,  however,  regard  it 
as  an  irreparable  misfortune.  I  had  not  by  any  means  em- 
barked all  my  hopes  in  one  frail  argosy,  as  some  poet  most 
absurdly  said — as  if  any  woman  of  sense  would  do  such  a 
thing.  The  sighing,  pining,  die-away  sort  of  feminines  may 
do  this,  perhaps ;  but  they  are  not  at  all  to  my  taste,  and  I 
decline  following  their  lachrymose  example. 

"  If  my  heart  could  have  broken,  it  would  have  been  when 
poor  Victor  met  his  untimely  fate.  I  know  you  will  believe 
me,  Pauline,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  sincerely  loved  him; 
though  you,  with  your  different  nature,  will  scarcely  be  able 
to  comprehend  this  affection  for  one  man,  when  worldliness 
was  hurrying  me  into  a  union  with  another.  All  that  was 
true  in  me  was  developed  by  that  affection ;  the  rest  is  the 
result  of  the  training  I  have  received,  in  some  measure, 
though  I  am  afraid  that  Nature,  when  she  formed  me, 
used  the  elements  of  the  butterfly  in  place  of  giving  me 
the  grand  passionate  soul  which  makes  or  mars  a  woman's 
destiny." 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  my  mother  did  the  best  she  could  with 
the  materials  she  had  to  work  on ;  but  such  as  I  am,  be  as- 
sured that  my  heart  is  not  going  to  break  because  my  rich 
lover  thinks  his  high-mightiness  occupies  a  lower  place  in  my 
affections  than  some  one  else  once  claimed." 

"  Mr.  Nevin  goes  to  Europe  with ,  I  do  not  know  that 

I  should  name  him,  for  I  believe  he  caused  my  uncle  much 


382      THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

trouble,  and  some  say,  laid  the  foundation  of  all  bis  subse- 
quent misfortunes ;  but  let  that  be  as  it  may,  I  hate  mysteries, 
and  I  must  tell  you  that  Mr.  Malcolm  has  returned  to  the 
city,  and  goes  to  Europe  on  an  extended  tour.  He  says  it 
may  last  his  lifetime.  I  \vonder  if  he  will  go  alone  forever, 
like  the  Wandering  Jew  ;  or  if  he  will  yet  seek  some  *  glad 
spirit  for  his  minister.' 

He  looks  as  if  he  stands  sadly  in  need  of  something  to  en- 
liven him,  for  a  more  absent,  self-absorbed  being,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find.  He  makes  no  effort  to  interest  others,  but 
glides  like  the  wraith  of  his  former  self,  through  the  scenes 
of  which  he  was  once  the  ornament  and  pride.  Thus  passeth 
the  glory  of  the  world ;  see  what  a  moralizing  vein  I  am  in, 
and  lest  you  should  grow  weary  of  it,  I  will  close  my  epistle, 
with  assurances  of  my  continued  appreciation,  in  spite  of 
your  horrid  seclusion  in  that  humble  cottage,  throwing  away 
your  fine  acquirements,  and  your  youth,  in  guiding  little  un- 
taught Creoles  up  the  ascent  of  knowledge.  I  trust  that  a 
sufficient  portion  of  the  spirit  of  Job  has  been  transfused 
into  your  individuality  to  enable  you  to  bear  the  burden  of 
such  a  lot  with  patience.  As  to  myself,  I  believe  that  I 
would  prefer  annihilation  to  such  a  destiny. 

With  kind  regards  to  my  aunt  and  Adele,  I  am,  as  ever, 
your  affectionate  friend  and  cousin,  LOUISE  RUSKIN. 

Pauline  silently  handed  the  letter  over  to  her  aunt.  Miss 
Gertrude  read  it,  and  remarked, 

"  I  believe  Louise  will  ever  remain  the  same.  No  misfor- 
tune can  long  subdue  her  spirits." 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  383 

Pauline  sighed  heavily.     She  said, 

"After  all,  such  light,  unimpressible  natures  enjoy  life 
most.  I  would  give  much  to  be  able  to  rise,  Phoenix  like, 
from  the  ashes  of  affliction,  as  Louise  does.  She  loved  poor 
Victor,  but  not  as  he  loved  her." 

"  No — how  should  she  ?  Intense  and  overwrought  feeling 
seems  the  heritage  of  my  brother's  children ;  and  a  fearful 
one  it  is,  as  Victor  too  fatally  knew.  I  own  that  I  like  Lou- 
ise better  since  reading  her  letter ;  if  she  could  have  per- 
mitted her  marriage  to  go  on  so  soon  after  the  poor  boy's 
tragic  end  I  should  never  have  respected  her  again." 

"  Aunt,  have  you  ever  been  able  to  learn  all  the  particulars 
of  that — that — " 

She  faltered  and  grew  pale  at  the  recollection  of  that 
night  of  agony,  when  the  sound  of  the  explosion  which  car- 
ried death  to  her  brother,  by  some  mysterious  and  powerful 
sympathy,  also  stilled  the  pulses  of  her  beloved  father's 
heart  forever.  Miss  Gertrude  looked  disturbed,  for  all  the 
occurrences  of  that  fatal  night  had  been  made  known  to  her, 
though  she  studiously  concealed  them  from  her  nieces.  She 
replied, 

"  Victor  was  accidentally  shot,  my  dear.  Let  that  suffice. 
It  is  a  painful  subject,  which  can  not  very  well  bear  discus 
sion." 

Pauline  sank  into  a  reverie,  in  which  her  brother,  as  she 
had  last  seen  him,  at  first  occupied  the  most  prominent  place ; 
but  gradually  his  image  faded  from  her  musings,  and  another, 
whose  name  had  stirred,  to  their  very  depths,  the  pulses  of 
the  heart  she  hoped  was  growing  indifferent  to  him,  came 


384  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

before  her  fancy.  She  beheld  him  as  described  by  Louise, 
and  again  the  surges  of  desolation  swept  over  her  spirit ;  and 
the  sad  requiem  of  unrequited  love  floated  silently  upward 
from  her  sternly  tried  soul. 

"  Will  I  never  be  free  from  this  anguish  ?"  she  mentally 
asked.  "  0  why  will  my  foolish  heart  cling  to  him  who  is 
indifferent  to  me,  with  this  everlasting  yearning  to  be  all 
things  to  him  ?  I  have  tasked  all  the  strength  of  my  spirit 
to  drive  his  memory  far,  far  from  me,  and  all  in  vain.  The 
very  sight  of  his  name  on  this  senseless  piece  of  paper, 
awakens  a  thousand  emotions  which  assure  me  that  I  love 
him  as  tenderly,  as  exclusively  as  ever. 

"And  he,  too,  the  minister  of  so  much  evil  to  my  De- 
loved  father ;  O,  I  feel  that  it  is  almost  a  wrong  to  his 
memory  to  give  one  kind  thought  to  this  man,  yet  I  can  not 
help  it !" 

While  Pauline  thus  struggled  with  memories  of  the  past, 
Adele  sat  beneath  the  trees  with  a  bright  smile  and  height- 
ened color,  and  felt  that  joy  in  her  heart  with  which  the 
"  stranger  intermeddleth  not."  Her  sweet  yet  rational  dream 
of  love  was  sacred  to  her  as  is  the  holy  fire  to  the  Eastern 
worshiper.  Philip  Evelyn's  poet  soul  was  breathed  in  every 
line  of  his  letter,  and  the  young  girl  thanked  Heaven  that 
amid  all  the  sad  reverses  of  her  lot,  the  love  of  such  a  man 
had  been  bestowed  upon  herself.  Evelyn  informed  her  of  the 
arrangements  he  had  already  commenced  making  for  their 
future  home. 

Aided  by  his  brother-in-law,  he  had  established  the  scien- 
tific department  in  the  college  in  which  Mr.  Graves  was  pro- 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  885 

fessor  of  languages,  and  it  promised  soon  to  be  in  a  nourishing 
condition. 

The  salary  from  it  would  be  amply  sufficient  to  supportx 
them  in  comfort,  and  promised  to  be  still  better  in  the  future.  / 
Philip  described  a  beautiful  cottage,  romantic  enough  to  be 
"  wedded  love's  first  home,"  which  his  father  had  purchased 
for  him,  and  which  he  had  commenced  beautifying  for  the  re- 
ception of  his  lovely  bride.     By  the  time  she  would  take  pos- 
session he  hoped  the  grounds  around  would  be  a  paradise  of 
sweets,  reminding  her  of  the  luxuriant  vegetation  and  gorge- 
ous flowers  of  her  own  southern  land. 

The  roof,  too,  was  overshadowed  by  an  immense  oak ;  not 
so  grand  and  imposing  as  the  magnificent  tree  from  which 
her  early  home  had  derived  its  name,  but  still  of  noble  pro- 
portions, and  this,  too,  should  bear  the  beloved  name  of 
Wavertree,  if  Adele  approved. 

She  read  his  letter  twice,  and  then  resting  her  head  against 
the  trunk  of  the  tree,  at  whose  foot  she  sat,  and  casting  her 
eyes  over  the  placid  waters  before  her,  Adele  surrendered  her 
mind  to  the  beautiful  dreams  and  emotions  that  filled  it. 
Twilight  was  slowly  stealing  over  the  earth;  the  glowing 
western  sky  was  fading  and  the  first  bright  star  of  evening 
already  cast  a  long  line  of  tremulous  light  upon  the  calm  sur- 
face of  the  lake. 

Suddenly  a  footstep  broke  the  stillness,  and  Adele  looked 
up.  expecting  to  behold  her  aunt  or  sister. 

A  tall,  stately  form  stood  beside  her,  which,  at  a  glance, 
she  recognized  ;  she  arose  precipitately,  her  cheek  alternately 
paling  and  flushing  with  agitation,  for  the  intruder  was  so 

17 


386 

vividly  associated  in  her  mind  with  the  troubles  and  ruin  of 
her  father  as  to  cause  his  presence  to  be  a  painful  oppression, 
from  which  she  would  gladly  escape.  She  hastily  said, 

"  Mr.  Malcolm,  I  scarcely  expected  to  see  you  again.  Par- 
don me,  if  I  also  add  that  I  had  no  desire  ever  again  to  meet 
you." 

"  You  are  candid,  at  least,  Miss  Harrington,"  he  said, 
with  an  accent  of  pained  bitterness.  "  Yet  I  entreat  that 
you  will  endeavor  to  control  your  antipathy  to  me  while 
I  speak  a  few  words  which  must,  for  my  own  peace,  be 
uttered." 

He  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  as  the  fading  light  fell  on  his 
features,  Adele  saw  that  he  looked  dejected  and  pale,  and  her 
sympathetic  heart  was  touched  by  this  appearance  of  suffer- 
ing in  one  who  had  seemed  too  self- sustained  to  betray  such 
evidences  of  his  kindred  with  the  common  lot  of  humanity. 
She  more  gently  asked, 

"  Is  it  of  importance  to  me,  that  you  thus  seek  me  ?" 

"  It  may  be ;  I  scarcely  know  ;  you  must  decide  on  that." 

He  seemed  collecting  his  thoughts,  and  he  remained  silent 
so  long  that  the  young  girl  looked  apprehensively  toward 
the  cottage,  fearing  that  her  sister  might  come  out  to  seek 
her,  and  thus  discover  who  was  her  companion.  At  length 
she  said, 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Malcolm,  but  it  grows  late,  and  I  must  re- 
turn to  the  house.  If  you  have  any  thing  important  to  say  to 
me,  pray  lose  no  time." 

"  Adele,  I  know  not  how  to  begin ;  how  to  word  the  offer  ] 
came  to  make.  Let  me  restore  you  to  the  sphere  to  which 


387 

you  rightfully  belong.  Let  me  be  the  medium  by  which 
wealth  may  be  restored  to  all  you  love." 

"  And  is  this  your  errand  here  ?"  she  coldly  asked.  "  I 
thought  that  question  had  been  sot  at  rest  long  since.  If  you 
were  not  satisfied  with  the  answer  you  received  last  winter, 
permit  me  to  reiterate  it.  No  inducement  could  be  offered 
(hat  could  tempt  me  to  become  your  wife. 

Malcolm  bowed  with  his  most  stately  air. 

"  I  fully  comprehended  that  at  the  time,  Miss  Harrington  ; 
and  I  have  become  reconciled  to  the  decision  in  the  months 
of  absence  which  have  since  passed.  Removed  from  the  in- 
fluence of  your  entrancing  beauty,  knowing  you  to  be  de- 
voted to  another,  the  mist  of  passion  fell  from  my  heart,  and 
too  late  for  my  own  happiness  or  that  of  one  revered  in  my 
inmost  spirit  as  a  being  too  pure,  too  noble,  to  belong  to  such 
as  I  am,  the  voice  of  truth  made  itself  heard." 

There  was  inexpressible  melancholy  in  the  tones  of  his 
ringing  voice,  and  Adele  listened  in  silent  surprise  to  this  un- 
expected revelation.  She  slowly  said, 

"  It  is  then  as  I  have  always  said :  the  true  love  was  given 
to  my  sister  ?  0 !  how  have  you  sinned  against  her,  against 
yourself !" 

"  I  know  it — I  feel  it — but  it  is  now  too  late.  I  never  can 
throw  my  heart  at  her  feet  to  be  spurned,  as  it  deserves." 

"  Why  then  have  you  sought  this  interview  ?  What  am  I 
to  understand  by  your  offer  to  become  the  medium  by  which 
fortune  is  to  be  restored  to  my  family  ?" 

"  Simply  this :  I  tempted  your  father  to  embark  in  specu- 
lations which  laid  the  foundation  of  all  his  subsequent  mis- 


388 

fortunes.  He  gave  me  important  aid,  by  which  I  made  large 
'sums  of  money.  It  seems  to  me  only  just  that  I  shall  atone 
to  his  children  by  returning  to  them  at  least  a  portion  of 
these  gains.  I  conjure  you,  Adele,  to  let  no  false  pride  in- 
terfere, and  prompt  the  rejection  of  what  my  conscience  tells 
me  is  justly  yours." 

Adele  was  greatly  touched  by  his  earnest  and  impassioned 
manner,  but  she  gently  and  firmly  replied, 

"  Mr.  Malcolm,  this  may  not  be.  We  do  not  need  your 
bounty,  and  it  would  lower  our  standard  of  independence  too 
greatly  to  accept  it." 

"  But  I  have  wronged  you — I  feel  it — I  know  it.  Let  me 
atone  in  the  only  manner  now  left  open  to  me,"  he  pleaded. 
"  Adele,  it  is  no  longer  the  lover,  but  the  friend,  who  offers 
what  he  can  not  honestly  keep." 

"  Give  it  then  in  deeds  of  charity  to  those  who  need  it. 
We  are  contented  in  our  new  sphere ;  reflect  an  instant  on 
all  that  is  past  and  gone,  Mr.  Malcolm,  and  you  will  feel  the 
impossibility  of  accepting  what  you  would  bestow." 

" Content !"  he  repeated  bitterly.  "What  a  dim  shadow 
of  happiness  is  that!  And  Pauline,  the  angel  of  destiny, 
whose  ministrations  I  madly  slighted,  is  condemned  to  this 
life  of  toil  and  mental  drudgery.  I  tell  you,  Adele,  if  I  could 
redeem  the  past  I  would  give  the  best  blood  in  my  heart  to 
be  enabled  to  do  so." 

Adele  could  not  forbear  saying,  half-reproachfully, 

"  Had  you  known  your  own  mind  sooner,  Mr.  Malcolm,  all 
the  misery  that  has  ensued  might  have  been  spared." 

"  Ah !  that  is  my  bitterest  reproach !   I  loved  you  both, 


389 

strange  as  the  avowal  may  seem.  Your  transcendant  beauty 
dazzled  and  bewildered  me  ;  and  when  I  gazed  on  you  with 
the  faintest  hope  that  I  might  ultimately  win  you,  it  stifled 
the  whispered  voice  which  always  assured  me  that  the  true, 
sacred,  and  enduring  flame  of  love  was  lighted  by  Pauline, 
alone,  I  wronged  her ;  I  cruelly  trampled  on  her  heart,  and 
mine  now  bleeds  for  every  wound  she  received  from  me. 
Adele,  do  you  think  I  may  dare  to  tell  her  this  ?" 

She  was  deeply  embarrassed,  and  hesitated  how  to  reply 
to  him.  She  was  firmly  impressed  with  the  belief  that  her 
sister  would  not  now  listen  to  his  suit.  The  silent  struggles 
of  Pauline  had  been  confined  to  her  own  bosom  ;  and  Adele 
believed  that  calmness,  founded  on  indifference,  had  at  last 
returned  to  the  wounded  heart.  She  feared  that  overtures 
from  Malcolm  would  only  lacerate  it  anew,  and  she  at  length 
replied, 

"  I  believe  it  is  now  too  late.  Pauline  has  so  long  believed 
herself  unloved,  that  you  will  not  be  able  to  convince  her  of 
the  sincerity  of  your  affection.  She  will  probably  think  you 
seek  her  from  a  feeling  of  pity." 

Malcolm  sighed  heavily. 

"  I  believe  you  are  right ;  and  I,  who  have  caused  her  so 
much  suffering,  have  no  right  to  inflict  an  additional  pang 
upon  her  pride.  I  will  not  consider  your  refusal  of  my  offer 
of  restitution  as  final,  Miss  Harrington,  until  two  weeks  have 
passed  by  without  any  communication  from  you.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  I  shall  leave  my  native  land,  perhaps  forever. 
Permit  me  to  bid  you  adieu,  and  to  hope  that  in  the  lot  you 
have  chosen,  you  may  find  happiness." 


390  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

Adele  suffered  him  to  take  her  hand  in  his  and  carry  it  to 
his  lips ;  for  by  the  magic  sway  his  manner  exercised  over 
even  those  who  were  inimical  to  him,  Malcolm  compelled 
her  forgiveness  of  the  past. 

"  Adieu,"  he  murmured ;  "  I  can  not  ask  to  be  remembered 
by  her  who  dwells  alone  and  apart  in  my  heart,  as  a  being 
worthy  of  its  entire  homage.  Speak  not  to  her  of  what  has 
passed  between  us,  if  you  dream  that  its  knowledge  may 
bring  a  pang  to  her  heart." 

As  he  turned  away  the  voice  of  Pauline  was  heard  from 
the  cottage,  chanting  an  evening  hymn.  The  rich,  full  tones 
of  her  charming  voice  filled  the  air  around  him,  and  Malcolm 
listened  with  mingled  emotions  of  pleasure  and  regret.  This 
might  have  been  the  music  of  his  home  had  he  not  played  a 
double  part,  and  execrating  the  blindness  of  heart  which  pre- 
vented him  from  appreciating  it,  until  it  was  too  late,  he 
went  on  his  sorrowful  way. 

Adele  returned  to  the  cottage  in  a  considerable  flurry  of 
spirits;  the  recent  interview  had  been  both  painful  and  con- 
solatory to  her ;  and  she  felt  the  necessity  of  communicating 
its  chief  purport  to  her  aunt  and  sister;  they  must  be  con- 
eujted  as  to  the  final  refusal  of  Malcolm's  offer  of  restitution ; 
she  did  not  doubt  their  course,  but  she  had  no  right  to  with- 
hold a  knowledge  of  it  from  them.  But  how  much  more 
should  she  tell  ? 

She  looked  at  the  transparent  cheek  of  Pauline,  beheld  the 
almost  saint-like  tranquillity  of  her  expression,  and  she  feared 
to  disturb  this  calm.  She  believed  her  love  for  Malcolm  dead, 
why  then  again  unfold  that  painful  leaf  in  her  destiny  ?  No 


THE  PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  391 

— let  it  remain  closed ;  and  when  she  related  the  recent  inter- 
view, she  suppressed  every  allusion  to  his  avowed  affection  for 
her  sister. 

At  the  first  mention  of  his  name,  Pauline  raised  her  hand 
and  shaded  her  face  from  the  light ;  but  Adele  saw  that  she 
listened  with  unchanging  cheek  to  the  narrative  she  gave  in 
as  few  words  as  possible. 

Before  Miss  Gertrude  could  speak,  Pauline  quietly  said, 

"  You  acted  perfectly  right,  Adele.  I  would  rather  toil  to 
the  last  hour  of  my  life,  than  be  indebted  to  Mr.  Malcolm  for 
any  thing.  If,  as  I  fully  believe,  my  father  can  now  behold 
us,  he  approves  of  what  you  have  done." 

"  You  have  exactly  expressed  my  sentiments,"  said  Miss 
Gertrude ;  "  and  now  let  us  dismiss  this  painful  subject." 

She  then  spoke  of  Philip,  and  in  listening  to  his  plans  for 
the  future,  and  interesting  herself  in  the  happiness  of  Adele, 
the  aunt  soon  dismissed  Malcolm  from  her  mind. 

Pauline  listened  with  interest  at  first,  but  soon  her  fancy 
wandered  to  the  late  visitor,  and  she  would  have  given  much 
to  know  if  he  had  come  in  the  downfall  of  their  fortunes  to 
ask  her  sister  to  share  his  wealth  with  him. 

Many  long  months  passed  away  before  she  summoned 
courage  to  ask  this  question.  It  was  not  until  the  eve  of 
A  dele's  own  marriage,  and  departure  for  Virginia,  that  she 
gained  self-command  to  maintain  the  outward  control  neces- 
sary to  sustain  the  semblance  of  indifference  to  the  reply. 

Then  Adele  revealed  all.  There  could  no  longer  be  danger 
in  so  doing,  for  her  sister  was  now  fancy-free.  With  a  glad 
laugh  she  told  her  that  her  own  words  had  indeed  been  true : 


392  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

that  Malcolm's  passion  for  herself  had  been  the  delusive  mi- 
rage, while  the  preference  he  really  entertained  for  Pauline 
was  the  true  manna  of  spiritual  life  to  both  mind  and  heart. 

O  what  a  flood  of  gladness  did  this  revelation  pour  into  the 
poor  weary  heart !  What  new  impulses  did  it  breathe  into 
life!  After  the  cold  winter  of  neglect,  a  gleam  of  warm 
tropical  sunshine  poured  its  revivifying  rays  into  the  region  so 
long  desolate,  and  spring  again  bloomed  there. 

They  might  never  meet  again  on  earth,  but  Malcolm  had 
loved  her.  He  still  cherished  her  memory.  Ah !  that  was 
happiness  enough  for  that  solitary  and  beautiful  life. 

Devoted  to  the  elevation  and  improvement  of  others,  one 
ray  of  brightness  was  sufficient  to  warm  and  illumine  the 
path  she  trod ;  that  narrow  and  shining  path  leading  to  the 
throne  of  the  Eternal. 

In  the  years  that  glided  silently  by,  many  sought  her,  but 
her  beautiful  dream  of  constancy  was  never  for  one  instant 
shadowed  by  the  worldly  temptations  which  were  offered  her 
to  change  her  useful  and  honorable  position. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Six  years,  with  all  their  manifold  changes,  have  passed 
away  since  the  close  of  the  last  chapter,  and  the  course  of 
our  story  now  takes  us  to  the  emporium  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion, Paris. 

Malcolm  had  wandered  over  the  whole  of  Europe,  finding 
amusement  first,  then  ennui,  lastly  discontent.  A  deep  and 
strong  yearning  was  in  his  soul  to  return  once  more  to  his 
native  land.  In  twilight  that  Ave  Maria  sanctissima,  rang  in 
his  soul,  and  he  would  have  given  much  to  behold  the  singer 
once  more  face  to  face,  with  the  same  kindly  light  in  her  eyes 
which  once  had  beamed  on  him  from  them. 

Perhaps  one  cause  of  this  intense  desire  to  renew  the  past 
was  his  own  failing  health.  An  accident  had  occurred  to 
him  on  a  railway  train  on  which  he  was  traveling,  that  caused 
a  severe  internal  injury,  which  baffled  the  skill  of  his  physi- 
cians, and  he  believed  his  days  were  numbered. 

He  received  constant  communications  from  the  United 
States,  and  he  was  well  informed  of  the  position  of  the  sisters. 

He  knew  that  for  the  last  five  years  Adele  had  been  the 
happy  wife  of  Evelyn,  and  their  fortunes  had  prospered  in 
their  quiet  way.  That  Pauline  still  assisted  her  aunt  in  the 
school,  which  had  now  become  quite  a  distinguished  institution 


004 

for  young  ladies.  That  she  steadily  discouraged  all  offers  of 
marriage ;  and  he  felt  that  the  one  love  had  been  to  her  too 
sacred  to  be  desecrated  by  even  dreaming  of  a  second  passion. 
He  mused  deeply,  and  decided  on  his  plans. 

"I  will  seek  Pauline,  now  that  I  feel  death  slowly  but 
surely  approaching.  By  the  time  I  reach  my  native  land 
my  life  will  be  at  its  last  ebb ;  then,  perhaps,  she  will  not 
refuse  me  the  right  to  bestow  on  her  the  wealth  I  possess.  I 
must  make  the  attempt,  at  all  events,  for  'tis  the  only  hope 
that  now  gives  interest  to  life." 

In  pursuance  of  this  design,  Malcolm  lost  no  time  in  mak- 
ing arrangements  for  his  departure.  A  faithful  servant,  who 
had  accompanied  him  throughout  his  whole  tour,  attended  to 
every  thing  with  care  and  dispatch,  and  a  first  class  steamer 
was  soon  found,  on  which  a  passage  was  taken. 

On  his  first  arrival  in  France,  Malcolm  had  endeavored  to 
pursue  the  clew  in  his  possession  which  might  lead  to  the  res- 
titution of  the  money  embezzled  by  Withers.  He  traced  Mrs. 
Dalton  and  her  young  protegee  to  the  hotel  at  Havre,  where 
they  had  remained  several  days.  Beyond  there,  no  trace  of 
them  could  be  found,  and  he  was  compelled,  reluctantly,  to 
give  up  the  hope  of  restoring  to  the  sisters  what  was  so  in- 
disputably theirs  that  they  could  not  refuse  to  receive  it. 

In  the  years  that  had  since  intervened,  the  subject  had 
been  dismissed  from  his  mind  so  completely  that  even  the 
names  of  the  parties  interested  were  scarcely  remembered. 

On  the  evening  before  setting  out  for  Havre,  for  the  purpose 
of  embarking,  a  note,  written  in  a  delicate  female  hand,  was 
brought  in  by  a  Parisian  friend.  The  address  was  to  Mai- 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  395 

colm,  and  with  slight  surprise  he  broke  the  seal,  and  read 
the  following  lines : 

"A  fellow-countryman  will  pardon  a  stranger  who  needs 
a  friend,  for  thus  introducing  herself  to  his  notice,  and  at  the 
same  time  asking  a  favor  of  him. 

"I  am  a  young  and  unprotected  girl,  left  thus  by  the 
recent  death  of  the  only  friend  I  possess.  Thus  situated,  I 
am  extremely  anxious  to  return  to  the  land  of  my  birth,  and 
if  Mr.  Malcolm  will  permit  me  to  become  the  companion  of 
his  voyage,  I  promise  not  to  be  a  troublesome  addition  to  his 
suite.  M.  Lesane,  who  kindly  offers  to  deliver  this,  will  ex- 
plain all  that  is  necessary.  Respectfully, 

"GRACE  W.  H.  DALTON." 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Lesane  ?"  inquired  Malcolm.  "  I 
am  scarcely  in  a  condition  to  become  a  squire  of  dames 
across  the  Atlantic." 

"  O,  you  need  not  put  yourself  out  about  this  little  girl ; 
she  will  not  expect  much  attention,  and  she  only  wishes  to 
get  safe  back  to  America,  under  the  protection  of  some  one 
who  will  keep  her  from  feeling  perfectly  forlorn  when  on 
shipboard.  What  she  desires  to  go  back  for  I  can  not  tell, 
for  she  has  no  relatives  there  to  claim  her." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  An  American  child,  adopted  by  an  eccentric  Englishwo- 
man, who  has  recently  died.  For  several  years  they  have  lived 
together  in  the  pension  in  which  Miss  Dalton  received  her 
education.  She  is  accomplished,  and  is,  I  believe,  quite  an 


396  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

heiress  in  her  own  right.  It  does  not  much  matter  about  her 
having  kindred,  for  with  the  means  she  possesses  she  can  pur- 
chase friends  enough.  She  has  great  enthusiasm  for  her 
native  land,  and  is  very  anxious  to  return  to  it ;  hence  her 
wish  to  avail  herself  of  your  escort." 

Malcolm  listened  with  interest. 

"  Of  course  I  can  not  refuse  such  a  request.  Tell  her  how 
much  of  an  invalid  I  am,  if  you  please,  that  she  may  not 
expect  the  attentions  I  should  otherwise  bestow  on  her.  Say 
to  Miss  Dalton  that  if  she  will  meet  me  on  the  steamer,  I 
will,  from  the  hour  of  our  embarkation,  consider  her  under 
my  protection,  and  do  the  best  I  can  to  place  her  in  a  satis- 
factory position  when  we  reach  New  Orleans." 

"  That  is  all  she  desires.  I  will  take  her  to  Havre  myself, 
and  see  her  comfortably  established  on  the  ship.  Au  revoir, 
try  and  get  better  in  the  prospect  of  seeing  fatherland  again." 

"  Ah !  I  might  if  there  was  any  one  there  to  welcome  me," 
was  the  bitter  thought  of  the  poor  invalid  as  he  turned  his 
weary  head  away,  oppressed  with  the  languor  of  lonely  suf- 
fering. The  name  of  Dalton  had  struck  a  confused  cord  in 
his  memory,  but  his  mind  was  not  in  a  state  to  recall  any 
thing  with  accuracy ;  and  after  a  few  moments'  reflection  he 
dismissed  it  from  his  thoughts. 

Three  days  afterward  the  young  lady  and  her  escort  met 
in  the  cabin  of  the  steamer.  Malcolm  was  slightly  better ; 
and  he  was  able  to  recline  in  a  large  comfortably  fashioned 
chair  for  several  hours  before  retiring  to  his  state-room. 
Illness  had  bleached  his  superbly  cut  features  almost  to 
the  hue  of  marble ;  and  the  brown  rings  of  hair  which  lay 


397 

above  his  transparent  temples  were  thickly  sprinkled  with 

gray- 

In  the  years  of  lonely  wandering,  the  expression  of  his 
face  had  changed.  The  look  of  haughty  pride  was  gone,  for 
remorse  and  humiliation  had  done  their  work ;  and  in  hum- 
bleness of  spirit  he  asked  to  be  permitted  to  remedy  the  great 
wrong  he  had  been  the  means  of  inflicting  upon  an  innocent 
family,  even  to  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  life.  To  die  then 
would  be  easy :  but  death  was  a  terror  until  he  had  made 
ample  atonement  for  all  the  past. 

In  a  few  moments  after  he  was  seated,  Lesane  came  for- 
ward, accompanied  by  a  young  girl  of  sedate  air  and  quiet 
manner,  wearing  a  black  traveling  dress,  relieved  at  the  throat 
and  wrists  by  a  white  crape  collar  and  cuffs.  Her  hair,  of 
raven  blackness,  lay  in  shining  bands  upon  her  head,  looking 
as  if  a  single  hair  had  never  been  out  of  order  since  it  grew 
there.  Her  complexion  was  dark,  but  transparently  clear, 
and  the  soft  hue  of  health  glowed  in  the  ruby  tinge  of  her 
cheeks  and  lips.  Her  eyes  were  dark  and  singularly  sweet  in 
their  expression,  as  they  beamed  from  beneath  a  clear,  broad 
forehead  on  which  sincerity  was  stamped.  The  mouth 
was  too  wide,  but  it  was  smiling,  and  the  teeth  even  and 
white. 

Altogether,  little  Miss  Dal  ton  was  quite  an  attractive  per- 
son, if  not  a  regular  beauty.  As  her  eyes  fell  on  Malcolm, 
she  gave  a  little  start,  and  then  a  perplexed  expression  stole 
over  her  features,  though  she  addressed  him  with  the  ease 
and  grace  of  a  Frenchwoman. 

"  You  have  conferred  a  great  favor  on  me,  monsieur,  by 


398 

taking  me  under  your  charge.  I  have  been  most  anxious,  for 
several  months,  to  return  to  my  native  land.  As  you  are  go- 
ing directly  to  New  Orleans,  I  made  bold  to  ask  you  to  give 
me  your  protection  on  the  voyage  thither." 

"  You  honored  me,  mademoiselle,  by  so  doing.  The  trust 
is  one  I  can  but  indifferently  fulfill  in  my  present  condition, 
but  I  will  do  my  best," 

"  Thank  you,  monsieur,"  she  replied,  in  a  tone  that  assured 
him  that  a  perfect  understanding  was  established  between 
them  at  once. 

Grace  seemed  to  feel  that  the  difference  in  their  years 
authorized  her  to  offer  him  the  attentions  of  a  daughter,  and 
she  soon  quietly  assumed  the  responsibility  of  preparing  his 
medicines,  and,  when  too  weary  to  read  himself,  she  selected 
such  books  as  she  thought  would  amuse  him,  and  read  aloud 
to  him  many  hours  of  the  day.  She  was  also  a  skillful 
player  of  such  games  as  amuse  without  wearying,  and  Malcolm 
often  wondered  how  he  could  have  endured  the  tedium  of  the 
voyage  without  her  sprightly  companionship. 

One  day  he  had  fallen  into  a  light  slumber,  and  she  laid 
down  the  book  from  which  she  had  been  reading,  and  scanned 
his  features,  as  his  head  rested  against  the  large  chair  in 
which  he  usually  reclined.  Again  that  expression  of  per- 
plexity with  which  she  had  first  beheld  him  came  back  to 
her  own  face ;  suddenly  Malcolm  unclosed  his  eyes,  startled, 
perhaps,  into  consciousness  by  her  earnest  gaze,  and  he  asked, 
with  a  half  smile, 

"  Why  do  you  gaze  so  earnestly  on  my  features,  Grace  ? 
Am  I  looking  worse  to-day  ?" 


399 

"  0  no,  sir  !  Heaven  forbid  !  I  trust  that  you  are  better. 
But  something  in  your  face  seems  so  familiar  to  me  that  I 
try  to  remember  where  I  could  have  seen  it  before  we  met  on 
the  steamer." 

"Some  accidental  resemblance,  or,  perhaps,  you  have  met 
me  before  you  left  New  Orleans.  How  long  is  it  since  you 
went  to  France?" 

"Nearly  seven  years;"  and  she  paused  as  if  painful  mem- 
ories were  connected  with  her  departure. 

"  Did  you  live  in  the  city  ?" 

"  I  was  at  school  there." 

Her  reserve  on  the  subject  was  so  evident  that  Malcolm 
said  no  more ;  and  in  a  few  hours  the  conversation  passed 
from  his  mind,  never,  in  all  probability,  to  be  recalled  but  for 
a  circumstance  that  occurred  a  few  days  afterward,  which 
poured  a  flood  of  light  on  the  antecedents  of  his  young  com- 
panion, and  brought  vividly  back  to  his  own  mind  occur- 
rences which  had  nearly  faded  from  it. 

Grace  Dal  ton  excelled  in  drawing.  Malcolm  was  first  made 
aware  of  it  by  an  outline  of  his  own  head  he  found  on  the 
blank  leaf  of  a  book  she  had  been  reading.  The  sketch 
was  so  spirited  that  he  begged  of  her  a  sight  of  her  port- 
folio. 

She  at  once  complied,  and  picture  after  picture  passed 
through  his  hands,  each  one  eliciting-  praises  which  they 
really  merited,  until  the  collection  was  nearly  exhausted. 

At  length  Malcolm  took  up  a  scene  which  struck  him  as 
familiar ;  though  for  many  moments  he  could  not  recall  its 

locality.     Gradually  the  mists  of  time  cleared  away,  and  the 
26 


400 

yard  belonging  to  the  house  once  occupied  by  Withers  arose 
before  him,  together  with  the  moss-grown  facade  of  the  old 
building  which  fronted  it.  The  windows  of  one  room  were  open, 
and  this  he  recognized  as  the  sitting-room  occupied  by  him. 

He  recalled  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  his  daughter, 
as  described  by  Madame  S — — ,  and  turned  his  gaze  upon 
the  young  girl  opposite  to  him,  to  see  if  he  could  trace  any 
resemblance  in  her  piquant  face  to  the  harsh  features  of 
Withers.  She  was  bending  down  over  a  small  bit  of  card- 
board, on  which  the  blurred  outline  of  a  head  was  visible. 
He  glanced  at  what  seemed  so  completely  to  absorb  her,  and 
started.  It  had  the  same  peculiar  formation  he  had  often 
noticed  in  that  of  Withers — a  marked  deficiency  in  con- 
scientiousness and  benevolence ;  this,  in  connection  with  his 
recently-aroused  suspicions,  caused  him  to  hold  out  his  hand, 
and  ask, 

"  May  I  see  that  sketch  ?" 

She  blushed,  and  withheld  it,  as  she  said, 

"  It  is  among  the  first  things  I  ever  drew.  It  is  not  worth 
looking  at." 

"  It  seemed  to  interest  you  deeply." 

"  Because  it  is  a  blurred  resemblance  of  one  that  was  dear 
to  me." 

"  That  renders  me  doubly  anxious  to  see  it ;  for  I  think 
from  the  glimpse  I  obtained  of  it  that  I  once  knew  the  origi- 
nal." 

"  Oh,  did  you?"  she  eagerly  exclaimed.  "Then  you  may 
be  able  to  tell  me  what  I  so  earnestly  desire  to  know :  may 
resolve  all  my  doubts." 


THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  401 

She  paused,  deeply,  painfully  embarrassed ;  and  Malcolm 
wondered  if  she  could  possibly  be  aware  of  what  was  so  well 
known  to  himself;  for  that  she  was  really  the  daughter  of 
Withers  he  had  now  made  up  his  mind.  He  drew  the  sketch 
from  her  hand  without  any  resistance  on  her  part,  and  at  a 
glance  recognized  the  saturnine  features  of  his  quondam  asso- 
ciate. 

He  looked  compassionately  on  the  young  girl  before  him, 
and  she  read  the  expression  of  his  features  with  evident  an- 
guish. Malcolm  saw  the  suffering,  but  was  unable  to  account 
for  it.  She  looked  up  pallid  as  death,  and  breathed  in  faint 
tones, 

"  You  knew  him,  then  ?" 

"  I  did — and  he  was  your  father  ?" 

"  Yes — that  was  my  first  attempt  to  draw  his  likeness,  but 
here  is  a  better  one,  drawn  from  memory." 

She  produced  another  head  from  a  pocket  in  the  portfolio, 
and  unfolding  the  tissue  paper  in  which  it  was  carefully  en- 
veloped, held  up  an  idealized  resemblance  of  her  father.  It 
was  happier,  brighter,  more  youthful-looking  than  the  With- 
ers either  of  them  could  remember ;  but  still  it  was  like. 

"  Your  memory  is  faithful,  Grace,"  said  Malcolm.  "  How 
old  were  you  when  you  last  parted  from  your  father  ?" 

"  Twelve  years  of  age." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  your  history,  my  dear  girl,  as  far  back 
as  you  can  remember  it." 

"  It  is  my  purpose  to  do  so,  if  you  will  answer  a  question 
I  wish  to  ask  you." 

"  I  will,  to  the  best  of  my  ability."     She  went  on. 


402  THE   PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

"I  now  remember  you,  Mr.  Malcolm.  I  saw  you  once 
through  the  window  when  you  were  at  the  old  house  in  New 
Orleans.  I  was  in  the  garden,  and  my  father  made  a  sign  to 
me  not  to  come  in'while  you  were  with  him.  Mr.  Malcolm, 
I  ask  you,  if  you  were  a  sincere  friend  to  my  father,  and  now 
he  is  in  his  grave,  would  you  refrain  from  making  public  that 
which  would  cast  a  reproach  on  his  memory  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  may  safely  answer  yes  to  both  queries ;  for 
the  latter  I  have  already  done.  I  know  more  of  his  affairs 
than  any  other  living  man." 

"  Then  Providence  must  have  led  me  to  you,  as  the  friend 
I  so  much  need.  You  will  aid  the  child  in  pursuit  of 
justice  without  giving  the  name  of  the  parent  to — " 

She  stopped  as  if  unable  to  pronounce  the  word  that  sug- 
gested itself.  Malcolm  kindly  said, 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  clearly  understand  the  extent  of 
your  information,  my  dear  girl ;  nor  what  your  ulterior  pur- 
poses may  be.  Confide  in  me  as  readily  as  you  would  in 
your  mother  if  she  were  living,  and  I  assure  you  your  confi- 
dence shall  be  as  sacred.  I  believe  that  I  can  clear  up  all  that 
is  mysterious  to  you  in  the  history  of  your  father,  and  painful 
as  it  must  be  to  both  of  us,  I  promise  to  satisfy  all  your 
doubts — only  confide  in  me." 

Grace  seemed  to  struggle  with  strong  emotion  for  several 
moments — and  she  then  said, 

"  Since  I  have  been  old  enough  to  reflect,  painful  doubts 
have  always  filled  my  mind  concerning  my  sudden  departure 
from  New  Orleans,  and  the  large  sum  of  money  embarked 
with  me.  My  father  was  assassinated  as  you  know ;  and  0, 


403 

Mr.  Malcolm !  since  the  death  of  Mrs.  Dalton,  I  have  dis- 
covered that  the  fortune  invested  for  me  in  the  English  funds 
amounted  to  the  exact  sum  supposed  to  have  been  taken  on 
that  terrible  night.  It  was  a  blow  that  nearly  destroyed  me, 
but  I  gradually  recovered  calmness,  and  I  am  now  on  my 
return  to  my  native  land  to  discover,  if  possible,  the  rightful 
owners  of  the  money,  and  restore  it  to  them." 

Malcolm  listened  with  deep  interest.     He  said, 

"  But  my  child  you  will  render  yourself  penniless  by  act- 
ing thus." 

"  I  am  accomplished,  I  have  patience  :  I  can  make  a  living 
for  myself.  Will  not  this  be  a  thousand  times  better  than  re- 
taining any  portion  of  that  money  which  must  prove  a  curse 
to  me  ?" 

"  You  are  right,  Grace,  and  the  noble  act  of  the  child  must 
redeem  the  fault  of  the  parent.  I  know  those  to  whom  this 
money  rightfully  belongs ;  they  are  two  lovely  and  amiable 
sisters,  who  will  not  permit  you  to  impoverish  yourself  utterly, 
even  to  fulfill  an  act  of  justice.  Strange  it  is,  but  I  had 
already  thought  of  seeking  the  protection  of  one  of  these 
ladies  for  you,  on  our  arrival  in  Louisiana." 

"  Tell  me  of  her :  let  me  know  how  I  can  best  make  resti- 
tution," said  the  young  girl,  with  interest ;  and  as  delicately 
as  possible  Malcolm  unfolded  the  various  links  in  that  history 
of  the  past  which  made  all  clear  before  her. 

During  this  recital  Grace  shed  many  tears ;  but  she  was 
glad  to  see  her  path  made  plain  before  her,  to  peform  a  deed 
of  justice  she  had  firmly  made  up  her  mind  to  accomplish  at 
the  cost  of  any  sacrifice  or  suffering  to  herself. 


404 

Malcolm  was  deeply  interested  in  this  development  of  char- 
acter in  one  so  young  and  unprotected  as  this  girl ;  and  he 
mentally  resolved  that  he  would  shield  her  from  the  conse- 
quences of  the  restitution  thus  nobly  made,  as  far  as  lay  in 
his  power.  His  will  was  already  made,  but  he  could  add  a 
codicil  bequeathing  to  Grace  Dalton  a  sufficient  sum  to  ren- 
der her  independent  of  labor. 

By  his  advice  she  retained  the  name  given  her  by  her 
adopted  mother,  as  that  of  Withers  had  too  many  painful 
associations  connected  with  it  to  be  willingly  resumed. 

And  thus  they  voyaged  toward  the  haven  where  so  much 
that  was  interesting  to  the  hearts  of  both  was  to  be  accom- 
plished. During  the  latter  portion  of  the  trip  the  weather 
was  tempestuous,  and  Malcolm  suffered  so  severely  that  seri- 
ous fears  were  entertained  that  he  would  never  reach  the  end 
of  his  journey  alive.  When  they  entered  the  Mississippi  he 
rallied  a  little,  but  reached  New  Orleans  in  a  state  of  exhaus- 
tion that  very  nearly  resembled  death. 

A  few  days'  rest  there  enabled  him  to  recruit  sufficiently  to 
undertake  another  journey,  which  he  firmly  believed  would 
be  his  last  pilgrimage  on  earth.  Grace  insisted  on  accompa- 
nying him,  and  together  they  ascended  the  river. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

IT  is  again  a  bright  evening  in  spring,  and  the  Grange  is  in 
its  highest  beauty.  The  magnolias  are  in  full  blossom,  and 
flowers  brighten  every  portion  of  the  neatly  kept  yard. 

A  family  groupe  had  assembled  upon  the  verandah  in  front 
of  the  cottage.  Miss  Harrington,  as  fair  and  contented  as 
ever,  was  seated  beside  a  lovely  but  matronly-looking  woman 
who  played  with  an  infant  that  nestled  on  her  lap,  while  a 
boy  of  four  summers  gambols  at  her  feet. 

Adele  is  still  beautiful,  and  there  is  an  expression  of  inef- 
fable content  and  happiness  on  her  features,  which  gives 
the  assurance  that  in  her  married  experience  she  has  met 
with  nothing  to  destroy  her  dream  of  love  and  confidence  in 
him  she  has  chosen  to  walk  through  life  with. 

Evelyn  and  Pauline  are  near  the  outer  gate,  busily  engaged 
in  training  some  wandering  vines  which  have  grown  too  rap- 
idly of  late.  The  elevated  and  serene  expression  habitual  to 
his  features  has  not  been  lost  in  the  struggle  of  life,  for  he 
has  honorably  and  manfully  labored  for  daily  bread  for  him- 
self and  those  he  loves ;  and  he  has  found  exceeding  joy  and 
reward  in  the  comfort  he  has  thus  been  enabled  to  secure  to 
the  cottage  home  in  which  dwells  his  beautiful  Peri,  as  the 
dispenser  of  peace  and  happiness  to  all  around  her. 


406 

How  shall  I  describe  Pauline  ?  I  have  said  at  the  com- 
mencement of  our  story  that  she  was  not  beautiful ;  but  now 
the  decision  seems  unjust.  On  the  brow  of  the  conscientious 
and  perfectly  developed  woman  is  a  light  and  serenity  which 
is  the  offspring  of  long  suffering,  struggled  through  until  the 
brighter  day  dawned,  and  the  dove  of  peace  once  'more 
folded  her  wings  over  her  sorely-tried  spirit.  All  is  peace 
within,  and  now  joy  dwells  in  her  heart,  in  the  presence  of 
her  beloved  sister  and  her  noble  husband. 

A  laugh,  blithe  as  in  the  first  bright  day  of  her  youth, 
gushes  forth  at  some  witticism  from  Evelyn ;  and  its  ringing 
mirthful  sound  is  wafted,  on  the  still  evening  air,  to  the  weary 
dulling  senses  of  a  pale  phantom,  propped  up  by  pillows  in  a 
carriage  that  approaches  at  a  slow  pace. 

He  recognized  the  voice,  and  new  vitality  seemed  infused  in 
his  languid  frame  by  its  tones.  He  made  an  effort  to  lean 
forward  to  obtain  a  view  of  the  face  he  had  so  yearned  to 
look  on  once  more  before  all  earthly  things  faded  from  his 
vision ;  but  exhausted  by  the  sudden  effort,  he  fell  back  in- 
sensible. 

A  young  girl  who  occupied  the  carriage  with  him  uttered 
a  slight  cry  of  alarm,  and  called  to  the  driver, 

"  Stop,  John.  This  must  be  the  place ;  and  I  believe  Mr. 
Malcolm  is  dying." 

John  hurriedly  drew  up  opposite  to  the  gate  by  which 
Evelyn  and  Pauline  stood,  and  requested  permission  to  bring 
in  a  gentleman  who  was  extremely  ill,  and  fainting  from  ex- 
haustion. 

Such  an  appeal  was  never  made  in  vain  to  a  humane  heart, 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  407 

and  Pauline  hurried  into  the  house  immediately  to  have  an 
apartment  made  ready  for  his  reception.  During  the  next 
few  moments  all  was  bustle  and  confusion,  for  the  invalid  lay 
so  long  insensible  after  he  was  taken  to  his  room,  that  Eve- 
lyn began  to  fear  he  never  would  revive. 

So  emaciated,  so  changed  was  Malcolm  that  his  rival  failed 
to  recognize  him,  as  he  lay,  apparently  in  death,  before  him. 
It  was  not  until  he  again  unclosed  his  eyes  and  looked  around 
him,  that  a  suspicion  of  his  identity  came  to  Evelyn.  Then 
his  first  emotion  was  one  of  annoyance  that  this  new  trial 
should  come  to  Pauline  when  her  pathway  seemed  at  last 
freed  from  the  shadow  he  had  cast  over  it. 

Why  Malcolm  should  come  there  to  die  was  incomprehen- 
sible to  him;  and  who  this  young  lady  could  be,  who  so 
sedulously  busied  herself  in  recovering  him  from  his  swoon, 
he  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  determine.  At  length  Malcolm  re- 
vived sufficiently  to  speak,  and  feebly  motioning  to  Grace 
Dalton,  he  said, 

"My  child,  leave  me  alone  with  Mr.  Evelyn  a  little 
while ;  but  do  not  yet  betray  who  I  am  to  the  rest  of  the 
family." 

She  left  the  room,  and  the  sick  man  turned  to  Evelyn. 

"  I  see  that  you  know  me  now.  Sit  near  me,  I  beg,  for 
my  voice  is  too  weak  to  make  itself  heard  far  off." 

Evelyn  sat  down  beside  the  bed,  and  Malcolm  con- 
tinued, 

"  You  must  wonder  why  I  came  hither,  and  I  read  some 
such  feeling  in  your  face.  You  see  that  I  am  dying,  but  I 
could  not  leave  earth  without  once  more  beholding  Pauline. 


408 

She  is  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  truly  loved,  and  bitterly 
have  I  suffered  from  my  cruel  hesitation  between  the  two  sis- 
ters. Will  you  not  bring  her  to  my  side,  that  I  may  entreat 
her  forgiveness  for  the  past  ?" 

Evelyn  hesitated.     He  at  length  said, 

"Pauline  is  not  like  other  women.  She  has  borne  much, 
but  she  has  at  last  triumphed,  and  I  scarcely  think  it  right  to 
cloud  the  peace  she  has  so  struggled  to  regain  by  seeking 
this  interview.  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Malcolm,  if  I  say  that 
your  former  conduct  toward  her  does  not  authorize  me  to 
bring  my  sister  face  to  face  with  you  at  such  a  time  as 
this." 

Malcolm  groaned. 

"01  have  deserved  this  ;  but  I  must  see  her.  So  much 
depends  on  it  that,  if  you  knew  all,  you  could  not  refuse.  By 
the  love  Pauline  once  cherished  for  me,  I  conjure  her  to  see  a 
dying  man  who  is  now  only  anxious  to  make  atonement  for 
the  past.  Let  her  decide  for  herself,  and,  if  I  judge  her  right, 
she  will  never  pardon  you  for  concealing  my  presence  from 
her  until  it  is  too  late  for  her  to  speak  peace  to  the  re- 
pentant soul  which  has  bitterly  expiated  its  wrong  toward 
her." 

His  agitation  increased  to  such  a  degree  that  Evelyn  be- 
came alarmed,  and,  after  a  few  moments'  reflection,  he  prom- 
ised to  go  at  once  and  inform  Pauline  of  his  earnest  wish. 
Before  leaving  the  room,  at  Malcolm's  request,  he  gave  him 
some  stimulating  drops  which  revived  him  sufficiently  to  en- 
able him  to  be  raised  up  and  supported  by  pillows.  He  then 
said, 


THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER.  409 

"Now,  Mr.  Evelyn,  I  have  one  more  request  to  make  of 
you  :  I  entreat  you  to  send  for  the  nearest  clergyman,  and 
have  him  here  as  speedily  as  possible.  The  service  I  re- 
quire at  his  hands  shall  be  made  known  to  him  when  ne 
arrives." 

Evelyn  thought  that  service  was  easily  understood,  when 
summoned  to  the  bed  of  a  dying  man,  but  he  left  the  room 
without  reply,  and  went  in  search  of  Pauline. 

He  found  her  preparing  nourishment  for  the  sick  guest 
herself,  and  begged  that  she  would  come  into  the  yard  wita 
him  while  he  spoke  a  few  words  with  her  in  private. 

"In  a  i moment,"  she  replied,  and  after  transferring  the 
cup  to  the  servant  of  Malcolm,  to  be  taken  in  to  him 
immediately,  she  joined  Evelyn,  looking  as  composed  as 
usual. 

It  was  evident  to  him  that,  as  jet,  she  had  gained  no  clew 
to  the  identity  of  Malcolm.  He  paused,  embarrassed  how  to 
begin,  and  she  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise.  She  read  some* 
thing  in  his  eyes  that  perplexed  her,  and  her  fair  cheek  faintly 
colored,  as  she  asked, 

"  What  is  it,  Philip  ?  Have  you  any  thing  painful  to  tell 
me?" 

"  I  fear  it  may  prove  so,  Pauline.  I  fear  that  the 
seal  so  resolutely  placed  on  past  emotions  is  about  to  be 
broken.  I  would  that  he  had  spared  you  this,  dear  sister." 

*  He — who  ?"  asked  Pauline,  standing  rigid  and  pale  before 
him.  "  Is  it — is  it — " 

Her  voice  died  away  in  an  indistinct  murmur ;  she  could 
not  utter  the  name  that  sprang  to  her  lip. 


410  THE    PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

Evelyn  understood  her,  and  said,  gently, 

"  It  is  Malcolm — and  he  asks  to  see  you." 

She  seemed  as  one  stricken  into  stcne ;  and  after  a  pain 
ful  pause  she  spoke  more  as  if  communing  with  herself  than 
with  him. 

"  What !  that  pale  shadow  my  prince  among  men !  My 
noble — noble  one,  brought  to  this !  0 !  I  must  see  him — I 
must  see  him." 

Evelyn  gazed  on  her — heard  the  intense  feeling  breathed 
into  the  tones  of  her  voice  with  amazement.  Was  it  possi- 
ble that  through  all  these  long  years  Pauline  had  continued 
to  cherish  this  hopeless  love  ?  Even  amid  the  darkness  and 
silence  of  time  had  it  still  maintained  its  sway  over  her? 
Verily,  such  indeed  seemed  the  truth  ;  and  with  sorrowful 
regret  he  came  to  the  unwelcome  conclusion  that  for  her  the 
anguish  of  the  past  was  about  to  be  renewed.  He  gravely 
replied, 

"  Malcom  sent  me  but  now  with  an  earnest  request  to  see 
you.  I  would  have  denied  him,  but  he  insisted,  and  I  felt 
compelled  to  inform  you  of  his  wish,  though  I  do  it  very 
unwillingly." 

"  He  was  right.  I  never  could  have  forgiven  you  if  you 
had  refused  his  dying  request.  I&  he  ready  to  receive  me 
now  ?" 

"  I  believe  he  is." 

"  Then  let  us  go  to  him  at  once.  My  own  heart  shall  be 
my  only  counselor  in  this." 

With  her  hand  pressed  upon  her  heart  to  quell  its  wild 
throbbing.  Pauline  followed  him  to  the  door  of  the  room  in 


THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER.  411 

which  Malcora  lay.  She  paused  at  the  threshold  until  Eve- 
*yn  went  in  and  announced  her ;  then  as  he  came  out  the 
pale  girl  glided  in,  and  in  another  moment  was  beside  the 
couch  of  him  whom  she  had  so  truly,  so  unwaveringly 
loved. 

Malcolm  held  out  his  emaciated  hand,  and  she  clasped  it 
in  both  her  own,  and  gazed  into  his  eyes  as  if  hers  were 
spell-bound  to  that  changed,  yet  still  nobly  beautiful  face. 
At  length  he  found  voice  to  say, 

"Pauline,  I  have  returned  to  you  in  death,  to  tell  you  what 
in  life  I  never  dared  reveal.  I  have  loved  you  hopelessly  for 
vears.  Forgive — forgive  the  past :  I  was  mad  ;  I  was  under 
a  fatal  delusion,  from  which  I  recovered  too  late  for  your 
happiness  or  my  own." 

a  I  know  it  all,"  murmured  Pauline ;  "  and  this  knowledge 
it  was  that  brought  back  to  me  peace  and  self-respect." 

"  Then  you  have  forgiven  me,  my  own  love  ?  and  I  may 
venture  to  make  the  proposal  for  which  I  came  hither." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  faintly  asked. 

"  Let  me  die  calling  you  by  the  holy  name  of  wife.  I  en- 
treat you  to  give  me  the  legal  right  to  endow  you  with  the 
wealth  which  I  would  gladly  have  devoted  to  rescuing  -you 
from  ruin.  O !  Pauline,  tear  me  before  you  reply.  I  am  a 
changed  man  since  those  days.  I  have  bitterly  repented  o* 
the  evil  that  flowed  from  my  selfish  madness.  I  would  have 
aided  to  repair  it  then,  but  he  who  has  passed  away  re- 
fused all  overtures  of  assistance  from  me.  I  made  many,  but 
he  spurned  them  all.  Could  he  now  look  down  on  us  and 
breathe  his  wishes  into  your  soul,  I  firmly  believe  he  would 


412  THE     PLANTERS     DAUGHTER. 

bid  you  accede  to  the  request  which  enables  me  to  perform 
an  act  of  justice  to  one  I  have  so  heavily  wronged." 

Pauline  was  weeping  quietly,  and  her  spirit  seemed  fainting 
within  her,  at  the  proposal  of  this  mockery  of  the  solemn 
ceremonial  of  marriage,  which  the  icy  hand  of  death  must  so 
soon  dissolve.  Yet  how  refuse  a  request  thus  urged?  and 
from  him  to  whom  her  soul  was  knit  by  ties  that  could  never 
be  broken. 

"  You  will  not — you  can  not  refuse  me  this,  Pauline  ?"  he 
again  urged,  and  his  pale,  eager  face  appealed  to  her  even 
more  powerfully  than  his  words.  She  at  length  said, 

"  I  consent :  it  will  at  least  give  me  the  right  to  be  near 
you  at  the  last,  and  that  will  be  worth  purchasing  at  any  cost. 
Let  it  be  as  you  will." 

"Thanks — thanks,  best,  dearest  Pauline;  I  felt  assured 
that  my  appeal  to  your  gentle  heart  would  not  be  in  vain. 
Remain  beside  me,  love,  until  the  minister  I  requested  Evelyn 
to  send  for,  arrives.  He  little  dreams  of  the  service  I  really 
require  from  him ;"  and  one  of  his  old  smiles  gleamed  over 
his  wasted  features,  lighting  them  up  with  a  beauty  that 
seemed  to  her  almost  divine. 

To  these  long-severed  hearts  the  communion  of  the  next 
hour  seemed  but  as  a  moment,  and  when  the  announcement 
came  that  the  clergyman  had  arrived,  they  both  heard  it 
with  surprise.  Pauline  left  the  room  for  a  few  moments,  to 
apprize  her  family  of  her  intentions :  they  heard  them  with 
pain,  but  without  remonstrance ;  for  they  were  quite  willing 
that  she  should  do  whatever  she  considered  best  for  her  own 
future  peace  of  mind.  Her  forbearance — her  long  suffering, 


413 

had  purchased  the  right  to  this  confidence  on  the  part  of 
those  who  loved  her. 

Soon  a  groupe  collected  around  the  chair  in  which  the 
invalid  had  been  placed,  and  a  white-robed  figure  kneeled  on 
a  cushion  at  his  side,  while  the  clergyman  performed  the  sol- 
emn and  impressive  ceremony  which  united  them  until  death 
should  part  them  ;  and  each  one  shuddered  at  the  word  as  if 
the  icy  phantom  was  already  in  their  midst,  breathing  his 
chilling  breath  on  both  bridegroom  and  bride ;  for  Pauline, 
pale  with  agitation  and  intense  feeling,  looked  as  if  ready  to 
pass  away  with  him  to  whom  she  so  tenderly  clung. 

After  this  strange  union,  no  congratulations  were  offered, 
for  each  one  felt  that  they  must  be  a  painful  mockery  to  the 
sad  hearts  thus  united.  Only  a  silent  kiss  and  pressure  of  the 
hand  to  the  bride  were  given,  and  then  all  save  Pauline  re- 
tired from  the  room. 

As  Grace  Dalton  was  passing  out,  Malcolm  recalled  her. 

"  Come  hither,  my  dear  girl,"  he  caressingly  said.  "  This 
is  the  lady  to  whose  protection  I  wish  to  bequeath  you. 
I  have  told  her  your  history,  and,  like  myself,  she  is  filled 
with  admiration  for  your  honorable  intention  to  do  justice  to 
her  family.  She  wishes,  from  this  hour,  to  claim  you  as  her 
adopted  sister." 

Grace  timidly  turned  to  Pauline,  who  clasped  her  in  her 
arms  and  imprinting  a  kiss  on  her  cheek,  said, 

"A  sacred  bequest  will  you  be  to  me,  dear  girl.  Con- 
sider me,  in  future,  as  a  near  and  dear  relative,  who  will 
feel  bound  to  promote  your  happiness  in  every  possible 


414  THE   PLANTER'S   DAUGHTER. 

Grace  expressed  her  thanks  with  emotion,  and  then  glided 
from  the  room,  leaving  the  two  thus  suddenly  united  to  such 
communion  as  yet  remained  to  them  on  earth. 

When  they  were  alone,  Pauline  again  knelt  upon  the 
cushion  at  his  feet  and  bowed  her  head  upon  the  clasped 
hands  of  Malcolm,  and  wept  in  anguish  while  she  mur- 
mured, 

"  You  must  not  die,  you  must  not  die  and  leave  me  deso- 
late. God  will  never  try  me  thus  fearfully ;  long  ere  this 
my  measure  of  suffering  has  been  full.  He  is  too  merciful 
to  bring  this  crowning  anguish  to  my  lot.  Hope  for  your- 
self, my  best -loved,  and  you  may  yet  be  restored ;  the  mind 
can  triumph  over  physical  ills — believe  that  you  will  re- 
cover, and  you  will  be  given  back  to  me  in  all  your  native 
strength." 

"I  would  that  it  might  be  so,  dear  Paulinff;  and  I  feel 
nerved  anew  for  the  struggle  since  I  feel  that  life  now  has 
something  worth  striving  for.  To  live  with  you,  for  you,  is  a 
beautiful  hope  ;  rise,  my  darling  wife,  from  that  lowly  position 
and  pillow  your  head  upon  my  heart ;  there  should  be  your 
place  of  rest  and  shelter — thus  let  us  pray  to  the  Eternal  that 
our  united  lives  may  not  so  soon  be  severed.  That  I  may  be 
restored  to  prove  to  you  how  sincere,  how  tender  is  my  affec- 
tion for  you." 

The  fervent  aspirations  thus  sent  up  seemed  indeed  to  be 
answered.  Slowly,  but  surely,  Malcolm  won  his  way  back  to 
health  ;  Dr.  Germain  attended  him  daily,  and  Pauline  nursed 
him  so  assiduously  that  the  physician  declared  that  to  her 
care  the  sick  man  owed  his  recovery,  much  more  than  to  his 


415 

skill.     A  bright  and  Eden-like  day  was  it  to  tlie  devoted     / 
wife   when   Malcolm   again  walked  forth   in  the   light   of 
heaven  with  the  hue  of  recovered  health  upon  his  cheek  and   I 
the  tranquil  light  of  happiness  in  his  eyes.     Pauline  felt  as    / 
if  all  her  trials  were  more  than  compensated  by  this  great 
mercy. 


CONCLUSION. 

A  few  more  words,  and  our  task  is  completed. 

Malcolm  and  his  beloved  wife  removed  to  a  beautiful  place 
in  the  vicinity  of  New  Orleans,  which  he  owned,  and  took 
with  them  Grace  Dalton,  whom  they  treated  in  every  respect 
as  a  near  relative. 

Miss  Gertrude  had  accumulated  quite  an  independence 
in  her  six  years  of  toil,  and  she  relinquished  her  school 
much  to  the  regret  of  her  pupils  and  their  parents,  and  ac- 
companied her  favorite  niece  to  her  new  home.  Malcolm 
refused  to  share  the  money  restored  by  his  young  protegee, 
and  the  whole  sum  was  paid  over  to  Evelyn  as  the  portion  of 
his  wife. 

With  the  consent  of  Adele  he  returned  to  Grace  the  sum 
of  five  thousand  dollars,  which  was  settled  on  her ;  and  the 
act  by  which  she  had  impoverished  herself  did  not  long  go 
unrewarded.  The  Jew,  Bondy,  was  found  dead  in  the  room 
in  which  Withers  had  been  assassinated,  with  a  written  con- 
fession of  his  agency  in  the  robbery  beside  him. 
27 


416  THE  PLANTER'S  DAUGHTER. 

In  a  sudden  paroxysm  of  disappointed  avarice  at  his  un- 
availing search  for  the  concealed  treasure,  he  had  corn- 
milted  suicide.  Malcolm  was  thus  enabled  to  regain  the 
property  belonging  to  Withers  which  the  robbers  had  ap- 
propriated. 

Mrs.  Euskin  heard  of  the  marriage  of  Pauline  to  her  early 
lover  with  amazement,  mingled  with  many  envious  pangs ; 
for  Louise,  after  gaining  the  deserved  reputation  of  being 
the  greatest  flirt  in  New  Orleans,  had  recently  married  a 
young  man  as  frivolous  as  herself,  who  was  dependent  on 
his  salary  in  a  large  mercantile  establishment  for  a  sup- 
port. 

The  sisters  are  still  living  in  prosperity  and  happiness,  and 
thev  annually  meet,  during  the  summer  season,  at  the  beauti- 
ful house  of  Evelyn  in  Virginia.  It  is  confidently  whispered 
that  a  reunion  of  the  whole  family  will  take  place  at  New 
Orleans  next  winter,  at  the  marriage  of  Grace  Dalton  to 
Algernon,  a  younger  brother  of  Philip  Evelyn. 


THE   EM). 


nmm 


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lartre    volume,    bound.      Price     One 
Dollar. 
Widdineld's  New  Cook  Book; 

or,  Practical  Receipts  for  the  HOUS&- 
wife.  Eecommencled  by  all.  One  rol- 
ume,  cloth.  Price  One  Dollar. 


MRS.   RALE'S   RECEIPTS. 


Mrs.  Hale's  Receipts  for  the 
Million.  Containing  Four  Thou- 
sand Five  Hundred  and  Forty-five  Re- 
ceipts, Facts,  Directions,  and  Know- 
ledge for  All,  in  the  Useful,  Orna- 


mental, and  Domestic  Arts.  Being  a 
complete  Family  Directory  and  House- 
hold Guide  for  the  Million.  By  Mrs. 
Sarah  J.  Hale.  One  volume,  800  pages, 
strongly  bound.  Price,  $1.25 


4    T,  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES  LEVER'S  WORKS. 

All  neatly  done  up  in  papfr  covers. 


Arthur  O'Leary,...  Price  50  cent* 
Knight  of  Gwynne,..     50      " 
Kate    O'Donoghue,....     50      " 
Con  Cregan,  tlie  Irisli 

Gil  Bias,  ...................... 

Davenport     Dunn,     a 

Man  of  our  Day,  ...... 


50 


50 


diaries  O'Malley,. Price  50  cents. 

Harry    Lorrequer, 50      " 

Horace  Templeton,...  50  " 
Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  50  " 
Jack  Hintoii,  tlie 

Guardsman, 50      " 

A  complete  sett  of  the  above  will  be  sold,  or  sent  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  fre* 
of  postage,  for  $4.00. 

LIBRARY     EDITION. 

THIS  EDITION  is  complete  in  FOUR  large  octavo  volumes,  containing  Charles 
O'Malley,  Harry  Lorrequer,  Horace  Templeton,  Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  Arthur  O'Leary, 
Jack  Hintoii  the  Guardsman,  The  Knight  of  Gwynne,  Kate  0'Don.oghue,  etc.,  hand- 
finely  printed,  and  bound  in  various  styles,  as  follows : 

Price  of  a  sett  in  Black  cloth, $6.00 

Scarlet  cloth, 6.50 

Law  Library  sheep, 7.00 

Half  Calf, 9.00 

Half  Calf,  marbled  edges,  French, 10.00 

Half  Calf,  antique, 12.00 

FINER    EDITIONS. 

Charles  O'Malley,  fine  edition,  one  volume,  cloth, $1.50 

"  "  Half  calf, , 2.00 

Harry  Liorrequer,  fine  edition,  one  volume,  cloth, 1.50 

"  «  Half  calf, 2.00 

Jack  Hinton,  fine  edition,  one  volume,  cloth 1.50 

«  «  Half  calf, 2.00 

Valentine  Vox,  fine  edition,  one  volume,  cloth, 1.50 

«  "  Half  calf, 2.00 

«  «  cheap  edition,  paper  cover, 50 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  fine  edition,  one  volume,  cloth, 1.50 

«  "  Half  calf, 2.00 

«  «  cheap  edition,  paper  cover.  Two  volumes, 1.00 

Diary  of  a  Medical  Student.      By  S.  C.  Warren,  author  of  "  Ten 
Thousand  a  Tear. "    One  volume,  octavo, 50 

HUMOROUS    ILLUSTRATED    WORKS. 


Major  Jones'  Courtship  and 
Travels.  Beautifully  illustrated. 
One  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

Major  Jones'  Scenes  in  Geor- 
gia. Full  of  beautiful  illustrations. 
One  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

Sam  Slick,  the   Cloekniakcr. 

By  Judge  Haliburton.  Illustrated. 
Being  the  best  funny  work  ever  writ- 
ten by  any  one  in  this  vein.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar;  or 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures 
anil  Travels.  Illustrated.  One 
volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

flumors  of  Falconhriclge.  Two 

volumes,  paper  cover.     Price  One  Dol- 
lar ;  or  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Frank     Forester's     Sporting 


Scenes  «fc  Characters.  Illus- 
trated. Two  vols.,  cloth.  Price  $2.60. 

Dow's  Short  Patent  Sermons* 
First  Series.  By  Dow,  Jr. 

Containing  128  Sermons.  Complete  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar  ;  or 
paper  cover,  75  cents. 

Dow's  Short  Patent  Sermons. 
Second  Series.  By  Dow,  Jr. 
Containing  144  Sermons.  Complete  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar  ;  or 
paper  cover,  75  cents. 

Dow's  Short  Patent  Sermons. 
Third  Series.  By  Dow,  Jr. 
Containing  116  Sermons.  Complete  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar;  or 
paper  cover,  75  cents. 

American  Joe  Miller.  With  100 
Illustrations.  One  of  the  most  humor- 
ous books  in  the  world.  Price  25  cents. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    5 

CHARL.ES    DICKENS'    WORKS. 

Fourteen  Different  Editions  in  Octavo  Form. 

"PETERSON'S"  are  the  only  complete  and  uniform  editions  of  Charles  Dickens' 
Works  ever  published  in  the  world  ;  they  are  printed  from  the  original  London  Edi- 
tions, and  are  the  only  editions  published  in  this  country.  No  library,  either 
public  or  private,  can  be  complete  without  having  in.  it  a  complete  sett  of  the 
works  of  this,  the  greatest  of  all  living  authors.  Every  family  should  possess  a 
Beit  of  one  of  the  editions.  The  cheap  edition  is  complete  in  Sixteen  Volumes, 
paper  cover  ;  either  or  all  of  which  can  be  had  separately,  as  follows : 


Little  Dorrit, Price  50  cents. 

Pickwi«k  Papers, 60  " 

I>ickeiis'  New  Stories,  50  " 

Bleak  House, CO  " 

David  Copperneld, 50  " 

Dombey   and  Son, 50  " 

Nicholas  Nickleby, 50  " 

Christmas    Stories, 50  " 

Martin  Chuzzlewit,....  50  " 


Barnaby  R/udge,... Price  50  cents 

Old  Curiosity   Shop,....  50  " 

Sketches  by  «Boz," 50  " 

Oliver    Twist, 50  " 

The  Two  Apprentices,  25  " 
Wreck  of  the   Golden 

Mary, 25  " 

Perils  of  certain  En- 
glish Prisoners, 25  " 


A  complete  sett  of  the  above  Sixteen  books,  will  be  sold,  or  sent  to  any  one,  to  any 
place,  free  of  postage,  for  $6.00. 


LIBRARY    OCTAVO     EDITION. 

Published  in  Seven  Different  Styles. 

This  Edition  is  complete  in  SIX  very  large  octavo  volumes,  with  a  Portrait  on  ste» 
-;f  Charles  Dickens,  containing  the  whole  of  the  above  works,  handsomely  printed 
and  bound  in  various  styles. 

Vol.  1  contains  Pickwick  Papers  and  Curiosity  Shop. 
"      a       do.       Oliver    Twist,    Sketches   by    "  Box,"   and   Bar- 
naby Itudge. 

"      3       do.       Nicholas  Nickleby,  and  Martin  Chuzzlewit. 
"      A      do.       David     Copperneld,     Dombey     and     Son,    and 

Christmas  Stories. 

"      5       do.        Bleak  House,  and  Dickens'  New  Stories. 
"      6       do.       tittle  Dorrit.    In  two  books— Poverty  and  Riches. 

Price  of  a  sett,  in  Black  cloth, $9.00 

"  Scarlet  cloth,  extra, 10.00 

"               Law  Library  style, 11.00 

Half  Turkey,  or  Half  Calf, 13.00 

Half  calf,  marbled  edges,  French, 14.50 

"               Half  calf,  real  ancient  antique, .,,  1800 

"               Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc 18.00 


ILLUSTRATED    OCTAVO    EDITION. 

THIS  EDITION  IS  IN  THIRTEEN  VOLUMES,  and  is  printed  on  very  thic* 
and  fine  white  paper,  and  is  profusely  illustrated  with  all  the  original  Illustrations 
by  Cruikshank,  Alfred  Crowquill,  Phiz,  etc.,  from  the  original  London  editions,  on 
eopper,  steel,  and  wood.  Each  volume  contains  a  novel  complete,  and  may  be  had 
i*  complete  setts,  beautifully  bound  in  cloth,  for  Nineteen  Dollars  a  sett ;  or  any 


8    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 

volume  will  be  sold  separately  at  One  Dollar  and  Fifty  cents  each.    The  following 
are  their  respective  names : 

Little  Dorrit.  Nicholas  Nickleby. 


Pickwick  Papers. 
Rarnal>y  Rudge. 
Old  Curiosity  Shop. 
Bleak  House. 
David  Copper  Held. 


Christmas  Stories* 
Martin  Chuzzlewlt. 
Sketches  by   "Boz." 
Oliver  Twist. 
Dickens'  New  Stories. 


Domhey  and  Son. 

Price  of  a  sett,  in  Black  cloth,  in  Thirteen  volumes, $19.00 

"  Full  Law  Library  style, 26.00 

"  Half  calf,  or  half  Turkey, 29.00 

"  Half  calf,  marbled  edges,  French, 32.50 

"  Half  calf,  ancient  antique, 39.00 

"  Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc 39.0C 


DUODECIMO    ILLUSTRATED    EDITION. 

Complete  in  Twenty-Five  Volumes. 

The  Editions  in  Duodecimo  form  are  beautifully  Illustrated  with  over  Five  Hun- 
dred Steel  and  Wood  Illustrations,  from  designs  by  Cruikshank,  Phiz,  Leech, 
Browne,  Maclise,  etc.,  illustrative  of  the  best  scenes  in  each  work,  making  it  the 
most  beautiful  and  perfect  edition  in  the  world ;  and  each  work  is  also  reprinted 
from  the  first  original  London  editions  that  were  issued  by  subscription  in  monthly 
numbers,  and  the  volumes  will  be  found,  on  examination,  to  be  published  on  the 
finest  and  best  of  white  paper. 

This  edition  of  Dickens'  Works  is  now  published  complete,  entire,  and  unabridged 
in  Twenty-five  beautiful  volumes,  and  supplies  what  has  long  been  wanted,  an  edi- 
tion that  shall  combine  the  advantages  of  portable  size,  large  and  readable  type, 
and  uniformity  with  other  standard  English  authors. 

This  Duodecimo  edition  has  been  gotten  up  at  an  expense  of  over  Forty-Five 
Thousand  Dollars,  but  the  publishers  trust  that  an  appreciative  public  will  repay 
them  for  the  outlay,  by  a  generous  purchase  of  the  volumes.  All  they  ask  is  for 
the  public  to  examine  them,  and  they  are  confident  they  will  exclaim,  with  one 
voice,  that  they  are  the  handsomest  and  cheapest,  and  best  illustrated  Sett  of  Works 
ever  published.  This  edition  is  sold  in  setts,  in  various  styles  of  binding,  or  any 
work  can  be  had  separately,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  in  two  volumes  each, 
Price  $2.50  a  sett,  as  follows : 


Pickwick  Papers. 
Nicholas  Nicklehy. 
David  Copper iield. 
Oliver   Twist. 
Bleak    House. 
Little   Dorrit. 
Domhey  and  Son. 


Sketches  toy  "Boz." 
Barnahy  Rudge. 
Martin  Chuzzlewit. 
Old  Curiosity  Shop. 
Christmas  Stories. 
Dickens'    New  Stories. 


Price  of  a  sett  in  Twenty-Five  volumes,  bound  in  Black  cloth,  gilt  backs,.. ..$30.00 

Full  Law  Library  style, 40.00 

Scarlet,  full  gilt,  sides,  edges,  etc., 45.00 

"         Half  calf,  ancient  antique SO.OO 

"         Half  calf,  full  gilt  back, 60.00 

"         Full  calf,  ancient  antique, 75.00 

"        Full  calf,  gilt  edges,  backs,  etc., 75.00 


T,  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    7 


PEOPLE'S     DUODECIMO    EDITION. 

Published  in  Eight  Different  Styles. 

This  Duodecimo  edition  is  complete  in  Thirteen  volumes,  of  near  One  Thousand 
vages  each,  with  two  illustrations  to  each  volume,  hut  is  not  printed  on  as  thick 
or  as  fine  paper  as  the  Illustrated  Edition,  but  contains  all  the  reading  matter  that 
is  in  the  Illustrated  Edition,  printed  from  large  type,  leaded.  The  volumes  are 
sold  separately  or  together,  price  One  Dollar  and  Fifty  cents  each,  neatly  bound  in 
cloth  ;  or  a  complete  sett  of  Thirteen  volumes  in  this  style  will  be  sold  for  $19.00. 
The  following  are  their  names : 


Little  Dorrit. 
Pickwick  Papers. 
Martin  Chuzzlewit. 
Barnaby  Rudge. 
Bleak  House. 
David  Copperfield. 
.Domtocy  and  Son. 


Nicholas  Nicklcby. 
Christmas   Stories. 
Old  Curiosity  Shop, 
Sketches  by  "Boz." 
Oliver  Twist. 
Dickens'    New   Stories. 


Price  of  a  sett,  in  Black  cloth, $19.00 

Full  Law  Library  style, 24.00 

Half  calf,  or  half  Turkey, 26.00 

Half  calf,  marbled  edges,  French, 28.00 

Half  calf,  ancient  antique, 32.00 

Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs, 32.00 

Full  calf,  ancient  antique, 40.00 

Full  calf,  gilt  edges,  backs,  etc 40.00 


ADVENTURES 

Harris's       Explorations       in 

South   Africa.     By  Major  Corn- 

wallis  Harris.     This  book  is  a  rich 

treat.      Two  volumes,    paper    cover. 

Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

Wild  Oats  Sown  Abroad;   or, 

On  and  Off  Soundings.     Price  50  cents 

in  paper  cover ;  or  cloth,  gilt,  75  cents. 

EUGENE    SUE'S 
Illustrated  Wandering  Jew. 

With  Eighty-seven  large  Illustrations. 
Two  volumes.    Price  $1.00. 
Mysteries    of  Paris ;    and   Ge- 


rolstein,  the   Sequel  to  it.      Two 

volumes,  paper  cover.    Price  $1.00. 
First  Love.    A  Story  of  the  Heart. 

Price  2£  cents. 
Woman's  Love.  Illustrated.  Price 

25  cents. 

GEORGE 


AND    TRAVELS. 
Don  Q,uixotte.— Life  and  Ad- 
ventures of  Don  Quixotic ; 

and  his  Squire,  Sancho  Panza.  Com- 
plete in  two  volumes,  paper  co\dr 
Price  $1.00. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Paul 
Periwinkle.  Full  of  Illustrations. 
Price  50  cents. 

GREAT    NOVELS. 

Martin  the  Foundling.  Beau- 
tifully Illustrated.  Two  volumes,  pa- 
per cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Man-of-War's-Man.  Com- 


plete  in   one    large    octavo    volume. 
Price  25  cents. 

The  Female   Bluebeard.     One 

volume.     Price  25  cents. 
Raoul  de  Surville.    One  volume. 
Price  25  cents.     (In  Press.) 

LIPPARD'S   WORKS. 


Legends  of  the  American 
Revolution  ;  or,  Washington  and 
his  G  enerals.  Two  vols.  Price  $1 . 00. 

The  Quaker  City  j  or,  The  Monks 
of  Monk  Hall.  Two  volumes,  paper 
cover.  Price  .One  Dollar. 

Paul  Ardenheim ;  the  Monk  of 
Wissahikon.  Two  volumes,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Blanche  of  Brandywine.  A 
Revolutionary  Romance.  Two  vol- 
umes, paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 


The    Nazarene. 

50  cents. 


One  vol.      Price 
One  volume. 


Legends  of  Mexico 

Price  25  cents. 
The    Lady    of    Albarone ;    or, 

The  Poison  Goblet,  Two  volumes,  pa- 
per cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  bound 
in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25.  (In 
Press.) 

New  York:  Its  Upper  Ten 
and  Lower  Million.  One  vol- 
ume. Price  50  cents. 


8    T,  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


HUMOROUS    AMERICAN    WORKS. 

With  Original  Illustrations  by  Barley  and  Others, 


Major  Jones'  Courtship.  With 
Thirteen  Illustrations,  from  designs 
by  Darley.  Price  50  cents. 

Drama  in  Poker  ville.  ByJ.  M. 
Field.  With  Illustrations  by  Parley. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

Louisiana  Swamp  Doctor.  By 
author  of  "  Cupping  on  the  Sternum." 
Illustrated  by  Barley.  50  cents. 

CHarcoal  Sketches.  By  Joseph 
C.  Neal.  With  Illustrations.  50  cents. 

Yankee  Amongst  the  Mer- 
maids. By  W.  E.  Burton.  With 
Illustrations  by  Darley.  Price  50  cents. 

Misfortunes  of  Peter  Faber. 

By  Joseph  C.  Keal.   With  Illustrations, 
by  Darley.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

Major  Jones'  Sketches  of  Tra- 
vel. With  Eight  Illustrations,  from 
designs  by  Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 


"Western  Scenes;  or,  Life  on 
the  Prairie.  By  the  author  of 
"  Major  Jones'  Courtship."  60  cents. 

Q,uarter   Race  in  Kentucky. 

By  W.  T.  Porter,  Esq.     "With  Illustra- 
tions by  Darley.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical  Ap- 
prenticeship. Illustrated  by 
Darley.  Price  Fifty  Cents. 

Yankee  Yarns  and  Yankee 
Letters.  By  Sam  Slick,  alias  Judge 
Haliburton.  Price  50  cents. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Col. 
Vander bomb.  By  author  "  Wild 
Western  Scenes,"  etc.  Price  50  cents. 

Big  Bear  of  Arkansas.  Edited 
by  Wm.  T.  Porter.  With  Illustrations 
by  Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Major  Jones'  Chronicles  of 
Pineville.  With  Illustrations  by 
Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Per- 
cival  Maberry.  By  J.  H.  In- 
graham.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Frank  Forester's  Quorndon 


Done  up  in  Illuminated  Covers. 

Hounds.     By  H.  W.  Herbert.  ESQ. 
With  Illustrations.     Price  50  cents. 

Pickings  from  the  "Picay- 
une." With  Illustrations  by  Darley. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

Frank  Forester's  Shooting 
Box.  With  Illustrations  by  Darley. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

Peter  Ploddy.  By  author  of  "Char- 
coal Sketches. "  With  Illustrations  by 
Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Streaks  of  Squatter  Life.  By 
the  author  "Major  Jones'  Courtship." 
Illustrated  by  Darley.  50  cents. 

Simon  Snggs.  — Adventures 
of  Captain  Simon  Suggs. 
Illustrated  by  Darley.  Price  50  cents. 

Stray  Subjects  Arrested  and 
Bound  Over.  With  Illustrations 
by  Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Frank  Forester's  Deer  Stalk- 
ers. With  Illustrations.  50  cents. 


Adventures  of  Captain  Far- 
rago. By  Hon.  H.  H.  Brackenridge. 
With  Illustrations.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Widow  Rugby's  Husband. 
By  author  of  "Simon  Suggs."  With 
Illustrations.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Major  O'Regan's  Adventures. 
By  Hon.  H.  H.  Brackeuridge.  With 
Illustrations  by  Darley.  50  cents. 

Theatrical  Journey-Work  &> 
Anecdotal  Recollections  of 
Sol.  Smith,  Esq.  50  cents. 

Polly  Peablossom's  Wed- 
ding.  By  the  author  of  "Major 
Jones'  Courtship."  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Frank    Forester's    "Warwick 

Woodlands.  With  beautiful  Il- 
lustrations, illuminated.  50  cents. 

New  Orleans  Sketch  Book. 
By  "Stahl."  With  Illustrations  by 
Darley.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

The  Charms  of  Paris;  or, 
Sketches  of  Travel  and  Adventures  by 
Night  and  Day.  50  cents.  (In  Press. ) 


C.    J.    PETERSON'S    WORKS. 


Kate  Aylesford.  A  Love  Story. 
Two  vols  ,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth, 
for  $1.23. 

Cruising    in    the    Last   War. 

First  and  Second  Series.  Being  the 
complete  work.  By  Charles  J.  Peter- 
son. Price  50  cents. 


The  Valley  Farm  ;  or,  Tho  Auto- 
biography of  an  Orphan.  A  Compan- 
ion to  Jane  Eyre.  Price  25  cents. 

Or  ace  Dudley  ;  or,  Arnold  at  Sam- 
toga.  Price  25  cents. 

Mabel ;  or,  Darkness  and  Dawn.  Two 
vols.,  paper  cover.     Price  One  Dollar 
or  bound  in  cloth,  $1.25.    (In  Press.) 


I1.  B  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    9 


ALEXANDRE    DUMAS'   WORKS. 


Count    of  Monte-Cristo.      By 

Alexandre  Dumas.  Complete  and  un- 
abridged edition.  Beautifully  Illus- 
trated. Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.23. 

Etlmond  Dantes.  Being  a  Sequel 
to  Dumas'  celebrated  novel  of  the 
"Count of Moute-Cristo."  1vol.  50  cts. 

The  Tiiree  Guardsmen.  By 
Alexandre  Dumas.  Complete  in.  one 
large  volume.  Price  75  cents. 

Twenty  Years  After.  A  Sequel 
to  the  "Three  Guardsmen."  One 
volume.  Price  75  cents. 

Bragelonne  ;  tlxe  Son  of 
Athos  :  being  the  continuation  of  the 
"Three  Guardsmen,"  and  "Twenty 
Years  After."  One  volume.  75  cents. 

The  Iron  Mask.  Being  the  con- 
tinuation and  conclusion  of  the  "  Three 
Guardsmen."  Twovols.  Price $1.00. 

Louise  La  Valliere ;  or,  The 
Second  Series  and  End  of  the  "Iron 
Mask."  Two  volumes.  Price  $1.00. 

The  Memoirs  of  a  Physician. 

Beautifully  Illustrated.  Two  vols. 
Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Q,ueen's  Necklace.  A  Se- 
quel to  the  "  Memoirs  of  a  Physician." 
Two  volumes.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Six  Years  Later;  or,  The  Taking 
of  the  Bastile.  A  Continuation  of 
"  The  Queen's  Necklace."  2  vols.  $1.00. 

Countess  of  Charny ;  or,  The  Fall 
of  the  French  Monarchy.  A  Sequel  to 
Six  Years  Later.  Two  vols.  $1 .00. 

The  Memoirs  of  a  Marquis. 
Complete  in  two  vols.  Price  $1.00 


Diana  of  Meridor;  or,  France  io 

the  Sixteenth  Century.  Two  volumes. 
Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Iron  Hand  ;  or,  The  Knight  of 
Mauleon.  Beautifully  Illustrated.  One 
volume.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Forty-Five  Guardsmen. 

Beautifully  Illustrated.  One  volume- 
Price  75  cents. 

Fernande ;  or,  The  Fall*?*. 
Angel.  A  Story  of  Life  in  Paris. 
One  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Thousand  and  One  Phan- 
toms. Complete  in  one  vol.  50  cts. 

George  ;  or,  The  Planter  of 
the  Isle  of  France.  One  vol. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

Genevieve;  or,  The  Chevalier  of 
Maison  Rouge.  One  volume.  Illus- 
trated. Price  50  cents. 

Sketches  in  France.  One  vol- 
ume. Price  50  cents. 

Isabel  of  Bavaria.  One  volume. 
Price  50  cents. 

Felina  de   Chambure ;    or,  The 

Female  Fiend.   50  cents. 

Andree   de  Taverney ;    or,  The 

Second  Series  and  End  of  the  Countess 
of  Charny.  Two  vols.  $1.00.  (774 
Press.) 

The  Conscript  Soldier.    A  Tale 

of  the  Empire.    Two  volumes,  paper 

cover.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  bound  in  one 

,  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25.     (In  Press.) 

The    Corsican    Brothers.       25 

cents.    (In  Press.) 


Price  50  cents, 


EMERSON    BENNETT'S   WORKS. 

The  Forged  'Will. 

or  cloth,  gilt,  $1.00. 
Ellen  Nortoury.    60  cents;  or  one 

vol.,  cloth,  $1.00. 
Bride   of  the  Wilderness.    £0 

cents. ;  or  in  cloth,  75  cents. 

Kate  Clarendon.    60  cents;  :i  In 

cloth,  gilt,  75  cents. 
Heiress    of    Bellefonte ;     and 

Walde-Warren.    50  cents. 


The  Border  Rover.  Two  large 
vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ; 
or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Pioneer's  Daughter;  and  the 
Unknown  Countess.  Complete 
in  one  volume.  Price  60  cents. 

Clara  Moreland.    Price  50  cents  ; 

or  cloth,  gilt,  $1.00. 
Viola.-  Price  60  cents;  or  in  cloth, 

gilt,  75  cents. 

HARRY    COCKTON'S    WORKS 
Valentine  Vox,  the  Ventrilo-     The    Sisters.     By  Henry  Cocktor, 

quist.    One  vol.,  paper  cover,  50  cts ; 

©r  a  finer  edition  in  cloth,  for  $1.60. 
Sylvester    Sound,    the    Som- 


nambulist.   Illustrated.  Complete- 
in  one  large  octavo  -volume.    Price  50 


author  of  "Valentine  Vox,  the  Ven- 
triloquist."   Price  50  cents. 

The  Steward.    By  Henry  Cockton. 

Price  50  cents. 
Percy    Eningham.      By    Henry 

Cockton.    Price  60  cents. 


10    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATION S. 


MRS.  GREY'S  POPULAR  NOVELS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 


Gipsy's  Daughter. 
.Lena  Cameron. 
Belle  of  the  Family. 
Sylbil  Lennard. 
Duke  and  Cousin. 
The  Little  Wife. 
Manoeuvring  Mother. 


Baronet's  Daughters. 
Young  Prima  Doiina. 
Old  Dower  House. 
Alice  Seymour. 
Hyacintlie.        [50  cents. 
Passion  &  Principle. 
Mary  Seaham.  50  cents. 


D'ISRAELI'S    POPULAR    NOVELS. 

With  a  Portrait  of  D' Israeli  in  each  volume. 


Vivian   Grey.    One  large  volume, 

octavo.    Price  50  cents. 
Venetia  5   or,  Lord    Byron  and   his 

Daughter.    Price  50  cents. 
Henrietta      Temple.      A     Love 

Story.    Price  50  cents. 


The  Young  Duke.  One  ocatvo 
volume.  Price  38  cents. 

Contariiii  Fleming.  An  Auto- 
biography. Price  38  cents. 

Miriam  Alroy.  A  Romance  of  the 
12th  Century.  Price  38  cents. 


MISS    ELLEN    PICKERING'S   WORKS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 


Orphan  Niece* 
Kate  Walsingham. 
Who  Shall  be  Heir  1 
The  Secret  Foe. 
The  Expectant. 
The  Fright. 
Q/uiet  Husband. 
The  Heiress. 


Poor  Cousin. 

Ellen  Wareham. 

Nan  Darrel. 

Prince  and  Pedlar. 

Merchant's  Daughter. 

The  Squire. 

Agnes  Serle. 

The  Grumbler.    60  cts. 


FRANK    FAIRLEGH'S  WORKS. 


Frank  Fairlegh  ;  or,  Scenes  in  {he 
Life  of  a  Private  Pupil.  By  Frank  E. 
Smedley,  Esq.  Illustrated.  Paper 
cover.  Price  50  cents. 

Lewis  Arundel.  By  author  of 
"Frank  Fairlegh."  Illustrated.  One 
volume,  paper  cover.  Price  75  cents. 

Harry  Racket  Scapegrace. 
By  author  of  "  Frank  Fairlegh."  Com- 
plete in  one  volume.  Paper  cover. 
Price  50  cents. 


Lorrimer  Littlcgood.  By  au- 
thor of  "  Frank  Fairlegh. "  Complete 
in  two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price 
$1.00  ;  or  hound  in  one  volume,  cloth 
for  $1.25.  (In  Press.) 

Harry  Coverdale's  Court- 
ship, and  All  that  Came  of  It.  Now 
first  published  Entire  and  Unabridged. 
Illustrated.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one 
volume,  cloth,  $1.25.  (In  Press.) 


CAPTAIN    MARRYATT'S   WORKS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 

Jacob  Faithful.  I          Japhet  Search  Father. 

Phantom  Ship.  Pacha  of  many  Tales. 


King's  Own. 
Snarleyow. 
Midshipman  Easy. 
The  Naval  Officer. 
Newton  Forster. 
RatUin,  the  Reefer. 


Pirate  &,  Three  Cutters. 
Percival  Keene.    60 cts. 
Poor  Jack.    60  cents. 
Sea  King.    50  cents. 
Peter  Simple.    50  ceuts. 
Valerie.    60  cents. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    11 


REYNOLDS 

Mysteries  of  the  Court  of 
London*  Complete  in  two  large 
volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00. 

Rose  Foster;  or,  "The  Second  Se- 
ries of  the  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of 
London."  3  vols. ,  paper  cover.  $1.50. 

Caroline  of  Brunswick;  or, 
the  "  Third  Series  of  the  Mysteries  of 
the  Court  of  London."  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Venetia  Trelawney;  being  the 
"Fourth  Series,  or  final  conclusion  of 
the  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  London." 
Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar. 

Lord  Sax  oiid  ale ;  or,  The  Court 
of  Queen  Victoria.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Count  Christoval.  The  "Sequel 
to  Lord  Saxondale."  Two  volumes, 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Rosa  Lambert ;  or,  The  Memoirs 
of  an  Unfortunate  Woman.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Mary  Price;  or,  The  Adventures 
of  a  Servant-Maid.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Eustace  Q,uentin.  A  "Sequel  to 
Mary  Price."  Two  volumes,  paper 
cover.  Priie  One  Dollar. 

Joseph  Wilmot ;  or,  The  Memoirs 
of  a  Man-Servant.  Two  volumes,  pa- 
per cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Banker's  Daughter.  A 
Sequel  to  "Joseph  Wilmot."  Two 
vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Kenneth.  A  Romance  of  the  High- 
lands. Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Rye-House  Plot ;  or,  Ruth, 
the  Conspirator's  Daughter.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00. 

The  Opera  Dancer ;  or,  The 
Mysteries  of  London  Life.  Complete 
in  one  octavo  volume.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Ruined  Gamester.  With 
Illustrations.  Complete  in  one  large 
octavo  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Wallace :  the  Hero  of  Scot- 
land. Beautifully  Illustrated  with 
Thirty-eight  plates.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

The  Child  of  "Waterloo;  or, 
The  Horrors  of  the  Battle  Field.  Com- 
plete in  one  octavo  volume.  50  cents. 

The  Discarded  Q,ueen.  One 
volume.  Price  50  cents. 


GREAT    ROMANCES. 

Lncrezia  Mirano;  or,  The  Coun- 
tess and  the  Page.  Complete  in  one 
large  volume.  Price  50  cents. 

Ciprina;  or,  The  Secrets  of 
a  Picture  Gallery.  Complete 
in  one  large  volume.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Necromancer.  A  Romance 
of  the  Times  of  Henry  the  Eighth 
Two  volumes.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Robert  Bruce  :  the  Hero  Kiisg 
of  Scotland,  with  his  Portrait. 
One  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Isabella   Vincent ;   or,  The  Two 

Orphans.     One  volume,  paper  cover. 
Price  50  cents. 

Vivian  Bertram;  or,  A  Wife's 
Honor.  A  Sequel  to  "  Isabella  Vin- 
cent." One  vol.,  paper  cover.  50  cents. 

The     Countess    of    Lascelles. 

The    Continuation    to    "Vivian   Ber- 
tram." One  vol.,  paper  cover.  50  cents. 

Duke  of  Marchmont.  Being  the 
Conclusion  of  "  The  Countess  of  Las- 
celles." One  vol.,  paper  cover.  50cts. 

Gipsy  Chief.  Beautifully  Illustrated. 
Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

Pickwick  Abroad.  A  Companion 
to  the  "Pickwick  Papei-s"  by  "Boz." 
One  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Queen  Joaunaj;  or,  the  Mys- 
teries of  the  Court  of 
Naples.  Illustrated.  50  cents. 

The  Soldier's  \Vife.  Beautifully 
Illustrated.  Complete  in  one  volume. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

May  Middle  ton  ;  or,  The  History  of 
a  Fortune.  Complete  in  one  volume. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

Massacre  of  Glencoe.  Beautiful- 
ly Illustrated.  Complete  in  one  vol- 
ume. Price  Fifty  cents. 

The    Loves    of    the    Harem* 

Price  50  cents. 

Ellen  Percy ;  or,  The  Memoirs  of 
an  Actress.  Price  50  cents. 

Agnes  Evelyn;  or,  Beauty  and 
Pleasure.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Parricide.  Beautifully  Illus- 
trated. Price  50  cents. 

Life  in  Paris.  Handsomely  Illus- 
trated. Price  50  cents. 

Edgar  Montrose.  One  volume. 
Price  25  cents. 


J.    F.    SMITH'S    BEST    WORKS. 
The  Usurer's  Victim.    By  J.  F. 

Smith,  Esq.    Complete  in  one  large 
volume.    Price  50  cents. 


Adelaide   Waldgrave  ;    or,  The 

Trials  of  a  Governess.     Complete  in 
one  large  volume.    Price  50  cents. 


12    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


AINSWORTH'S 

Life  of  Jack  Sheppard,  the  most 
noted  burglar,  robber,  and  jail  breaker 
that  ever  lived.  Illustrated.  50  cents. 

The  Tower  of  London.  With 
over  One  Hundred  splendid  Engrav- 
ings. Two  volumes.  Price  $1.00. 

Tlie  Miser's  Daughter.  Com- 
plete in  two  large  vols.  Price  $1.00. 

Pictorial  Life  &.  Adventures 
of  Guy  Fawkes.  Bloody  Tower, 
etc.  Illustrated.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Pictorial  Old  St.  Paul's. 
A  Tale  of  the  Plague  and  the  Fire. 
Illustrated.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Star  Chamber.    Illustrated. 

Price  50  cents. 
Mysteries     of  the     Court    of 

Queen  Aline.     Price  50  cents. 
Mysteries    of    the    Court    of 

the  Stuarts.     Price  50  cents. 
Windsor     Castle.      One  volume. 

Price  50  cents. 


BEST    WORKS. 

The  Pictorial  Newgate  Cal» 
endar  ;  or,  The  Chronicles  of  Crime. 
Beautifully  Illustrated.  50  cents. 

Life  of  Henry  Thomas,  the 
Western  Burglar  and  Murderer.  Full 
of  Plates.  One  volume.  Price  25  cents. 

Pictorial  Life  &  Adventures 
of  Dick  Turpin,  the  Burglar, 
Murderer,  etc.  One  vol.  Price  25  cents. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  th« 
Desperadoes  of  the  New 
World.  Illustrated.  1vol.  25  cents. 

Life    of  Ninon  De    L'Enelos. 

With  her  Letters  on  Love,  Courtship 
&  Marriage.  Illustrated.  1  vol.  25  cts. 

Pictorial  Life  and  Adven- 
tures of  Davy  Crockett. 
One  volume.  Price  60  cents. 

Grace  O'Malley— Her  Life  &> 
Adventures.  Price  38  cents. 

Life  &-  Adventures  of  Arthur 
Spring.  Price  25  cents. 


T.    S.   ARTHUR'S    BEST   WORKS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 


The  Lady  at  Home. 
Year  after  Marriage. 
Cecilia  Howard. 
Orphan  Children. 
Love  in  High  Life. 
Debtor's    Daughter. 
Love  in  a  Cottage. 
Mary  Moreton. 
The   Divorced  Wife. 


The  Two  Brides. 
Agnes,  or  Possessed. 
Lucy  Sandford. 
The  Banker's  Wife. 
The   Two  Merchants. 
Insubordination. 
Trial  and  Triumph. 
The  Iron  Rule. 
Pride  and  Prudence. 


GREEN'S  WORKS  ON  GAMBLING. 


Gambling  Exposed;  a  full  Ex- 
position of  all  the  various  Arts,  Mys- 
teries, and  Miseries  of  Gambling.  By 
J.  H.  Green,  the  Keformed  Gambler. 
Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover, 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  one  volume,  cloth, 
gilt,  $1.25. 

The  Reformed  Gamble* ;  or, 
The  Autobiography  of  the  Reformed 
Gambler,  J.  H.  Green.  Written  by 
Himself.  Complete  in  two  volumes, 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in 
one  vol.  cloth,  gilt,  for  $1.25.  (In 
Press.} 


The  Gambler's  Life  5  or,  The  Au- 
tobiography of  the  Life,  Adventures, 
and  Personal  Experience  of  Jonathan 
H.  Green.  Written  by  Himself.  With 
a  Steel  Portrait  of  the  Author,  and 
other  Illustrative  Engravings.  Two 
vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar; 
or  one  volume,  cloth,  gilt,  $1.25. 

Secret  Band  of  Brothers.  Com- 
piled by  J.  H.  Green.  Beautifully  Illus- 
trated from  original  designs,  by  Darley 
and  Croome.  Two  volumes,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  f  cl., 
cloth,  gilt,  for  $1.25.  (In  Press.) 


LIEBIG'S    \VORKS    ON    CHEMISTRY. 


Agricultural  Chemistry.  Com- 
plete in  one  volume.     Price  25  cents. 


Animal    Chemistry.      Complete 
in  one  volume.    Price  25  cents. 


Letters  on  Chemistry. 
The  Potato  Disease. 
Chemistry  and  Physics  in  F6- 

lation  to  Physiology  and  Pathology. 
The  above  Five  works  of  Professor  Liebig  are  also  published  complete  in  one 
*arge  octavo  volume,  bound.    Price  $1.50.    The  three  last  works  are  only  published 
in  the  bound  volume. 


T,  B.  PETEH80TI  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    13 


WORKS    BY    THE 

The  Quaker  Soldier  j  or,  Tlie 

British  in  Philadelphia.    By 

a  noted  Judge.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth, 
for  $1.25. 

Currer  IJyle ;  or,  The  Auto- 
hiograpiiy  of  Louise  Reed- 

er.  Written  by  Herself,  and  contain- 
ing her  Portrait  on  Steel.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar;  or 
bound  in  one  volume  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Life  and  Beauties  of  Fanny 
Fern.  Complete  in  two  volumes, 
paper  cover,  price  $1.00;  or  hound  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Corinne  ;  or,  Italy.  By  Madame 
De  Stael.  Translated  expressly  for  this 
edition.  The  poetical  passages  by 
L.  E.  L.  Two  vols.,  complete  in  one. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

The  Roman  Traitor.  By  H.  W. 
Herbert.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Price  $1.00 ;  or  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Flirtations  in  America ;  or, 
High  Life  in  New  York.  Complete  in 
one  volume.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Pride  of  IJife.  By  author  of 
"Henpecked  Husband."  2  vols.,  pa- 
per cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  bound  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Cahin  and  Parlor.  By  J. 
Thornton  Eandolph.  Price  50  cents 
in  paper  ;  or  bound  in  cloth  for  $1.00. 

Life  in  the  South.  An  Antidote 
to  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."  Illustrated 
by  Barley.  Price  50  cents. 


BEST    AUTHORS. 
Mysteries    of     Three    Cities: 

Boston,  New  York,  and  Philadelphia. 
By  A.  J.  H.  Duganne.   One  vol.   50  cts. 

Red  Indians  of  Newfound- 
land. An  'Illustrated  Indian  Story. 
By  author  of  "  Prairie  Bird."  50  cts. 

The  Greatest  Plague  of  L.ife  ; 

or,  The  Adventures  of  a  Lady  in  Search 
of  a  Good  Servant.     Price  50  cents. 

Ned  Musgrave ;  or,  The  most  Un- 
fortunate Man  in  the  World.  By  Theo- 
dore Hook.  One  volume.  50  cents. 

Llorente's  History  of  the  In- 
quisition in  Spain.  Complete 
in  one  large  octavo  volume.  50  cents 

Genevra ;  or,  The  History  of  a  Por- 
trait. By  one  of  the  most  prominent 
Writers  in  America.  One  vol.  50  cts. 

Ahbey     of     Innismoyle.      By 

Grace  Kennedy.     Price  25  cents. 

Father  Clement.  By  author  of 
"  Dunallen. "  Price  50  cents. 

The  Fortune  Hunter.    By  Mrs. 

Mowatt.     Price  38  cents. 
Romish   Confessional.     By  M. 

Michelet.     Price  50  cents. 
Whitehall ;  or,  The  Times  of  Oliver 
Cromwell.     Complete  in  one  volume. 
Illustrated.     Price  50  cents. 

Whitefriars;  or,  The  Days  of 
Charles  the  Second.  Complete  in  one 
volume.  Illustrated.  Price  50  cents. 
(In  Press.) 


USEFUL    BOOKS    FOR    EVERYBODY. 


The  Lady's  Work  -  Table 
Book.  Full  of  plates.  Beautifully 
bound  in  one  volume  in  crimson  cloth, 
gilt.  Price  One  Dollar. 

Lardiier's  One  Thousand  and 
Ten  Things  Worth  Know- 
ing 5  to  which  is  added  Employment 
to  All ;  or  a  Hundred  Ways  to  make  and 
keep  Money.  Price  25  cents. 

Pocket  Library  of  Useful 
Knowledge.  A  work  that  all 
should  own.  Price  50  cents. 

Gentlemen's  Science  of  Eti- 
quette ;  and  Guide  to  Society.  By 
Count  D'Orsay.  With  his  Portrait. 
Price  25  cents. 

Ladies'  Science  of  Etiquette  5 
and  complete  Hand-Book  of  the  Toilet. 
By  Countess  De  Calabrella.  25  cents. 


The  Complete  Kitchen  and 
Fruit  Gardener.  A  work  that 
all  that  have  a  garden  should  own. 
Price  25  cents. 

The  Complete  Florist;  or, 
Flower  Gardener.  The  best 
work  on  the  subject  ever  published. 
Price  25  cents. 

Knowlson's  Complete  Far- 
rier, or  Horse  Doctor.  All  that 
own  a  horse  should  possess  this  book. 
Price  25  cents. 

Kiiowlson's  Complete  Cattle  j 
or,  Cow  Doctor.  Whoever  owns 
a  cow  should  have  this  book.  25  cts. 

Arthur's  Receipts  for  Put- 
ting up  Fruits  «&•  Vegetables 
in  Summer  to  Keep.  ]2>£  cts. 


DR.    HOLLICK'S    WORKS. 
Dr.   Hollick's    Anatomy   and  I  Dr.  Hollick's   Family  Physl- 


Physiology  ;  with  a  large  Dissect- 
ed Plate  of  the  Huma  n  Figure.     $1.25. 


cian. 

body. 


A  Pocket  Guide  for  Every- 
Price  25  cents. 


J4    T,  B,  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS    BY    THE    MOST    POPULAR    AUTHORS. 


Robert  Oaklamls  ;  or,  The  Outcast 
Orphan.  By  Leitch  Ritchie,  author  of 
"  Robber  of  the  Rhiue."  Price  25  cts. 

Moredun.    A  Tale  of  1210.     By  Sir 

Walter  Scott,  Bart.,  author  of  "  Waver- 
ly,''  "Ivanhoe,"  etc.  Price  50  cents. 

Tlie  Two  Cousins.  By  P.  Hamil- 
ton Myers,  author  of  "  Bell  Brandon," 
etc.  One  vol.,  cloth.  Price  $1.00. 

C  our  ten  ay  Hall.  A  True  Tale  of 
Virginia  Life.  By  James  T.  Randol  ph, 
Esq.  One  volume,  cloth.  Price  -$1.00. 

"Wilfred    Moiitressor ;    or,  New 

York  Life  Exposed  ;  or  the  Exposition 
of  the  Secret  Order  of  the  Seven.  Illus- 
trated with  87  Illustrative  Engravings. 
Two  volumes.  Price  $1.00. 

Salatliiel.  By  Rev.  George  Croly. 
Price  50  cents. 

Aristocracy;  or,  Life  among  the 
Upper  Ten.  Price  50  cents. 

GEORGE 


Henry    Clay's     Portrait.      By 

Nagle.  Size  22  by  30  in.  Price  $1.00  a 
copy.  Originally  sold  at  $5.00  a  copy. 

Tiie  Miser's  Heir.  By  P.  H.  Myers. 
Price  50  cents  m  paper  cover ;  or  75 
cents  in  clotb  gilt. 

Tom  Racquet;  and  His  Three 
Maiden  Aunts.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Two  Iiovers.  A  Domestic 
Story.  Price  50  cents. 

Arrah  Neil.  A  Novel.  By  G.  P.  K 
James.  Price  50  cents. 

Sketches  in  Ireland.  ByW.  M, 
Thackeray.  Price  50  cents, 

The  Coquette.  One  of  the  best 
books  ever  written.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Orphan  Sisters.  A  beauti- 
ful book.  Price  38  cents. 

Victims  of  Amusements.  By 
Martha  Clark.  Suitable  for  Sunday 
Schools.  One  volume,  cloth.  38  cts. 

SAND'S   WORKS. 


Consnelo.  By  George  Sand.  Trans- 
lated from  the  French,  by  Fayette 
Robinson.  Complete  and  unabridged. 
One  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Countess  of  Rudolstadt.    The 

Sequel  to  "Consuelo."  Translated 
from  the  original  French.  Only  Com- 
plete and  unabridged  edition.  One 
volume.  Price  50  cents. 


Indiana.  By  author  of  "  Consuelo," 
etc.  A  very  bewitching  and  interesting 
work.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price 
$1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

First  and  True  Love.  By  George 
Sand,  author  of  "Consuelo,"  "Indi- 
ana, "etc.  Illustrated.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Corsair.  A  Venetian  Tale. 
Price  2.3  cents. 


CHRISTY    «&    WOOD'S    SONG    BOOKS. 

No  music  is  so  generally  esteemed,  or  songs  so  frequently  sung  and  listened  to 
•vrith.  so  much  delight,  as  is  the  music  and  the  songs  of  the  Ethiopian  Minstrels. 
They  have  commenced  a  new  epoch  in  Music,  and  the  best  works  relating  to  them 
are  those  mentioned  below.  Each  Book  contains  near  Seventy  Songs. 


Christy  <fc  Wood's  Song  Book. 

Illustrated.     Price  12)£  cents. 

The    Melodeon    Song    Book. 

Price  12^  cents. 
The      Plantation      Melodies. 

Price  12>£  cents. 

The    Ethiopian    Song    Book. 

Price  12}£  cents. 


The  Serenaders'  Song  Book. 

Price  12)£  cents. 

Christy    and    White's    Com- 
plete   Ethiopian    Melodies, 

containing  the  whole  of  these  five 
song  books,  are  beautifully  bound 
in  one  large  volume,  cloth,  gilt 
back.  Price  Seventy-five  cents  a  copy 
only. 


REV.    CHAS.    WADSWORTH'S     SERMONS. 


America's  Mission.  A  Thanks- 
giving Discourse.  By  Rev.  Charles 
Wadsworth.  Complete  in  one  large 
volume.  Price  25  cents. 

Thankfulness    and    Charac- 


ter.      Two    Discourses.       By    Rev. 
Charles  Wadsworth.    Price  25  cents. 
Politics  in  Religion.  A  Thanks 
giving     Sermon.      By    Rev.    Charles 
Wadsworth.     Price  12^  cents. 


SIR    E. 


BUI,  TVER'S    NOVELS. 


Falkland.  A  Novel.  One  vol.,  oc- 
tavo. Price  25  cents. 

The  Roue  ;  or,  The  Hazards  of  Wo- 
men. Price  25  cents. 


The  Oxonians.    A  Sequel  to  " The 

Roue."    Price  25  cents. 
Calderon,    the    Courtier.    By 

Sir  E.  L.  Bulwer.     Price  12)£  cents. 


T.  B,  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    15 


WORKS 


BY    CELEBRATED    AUTHORS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 


Mysteries  and  Miseries  of 
New  Orleans.  By  Ned  Buntliue. 
Complete  in  one  volume. 

Jack  Downing's  Letters.     By 

Major  Jack  Downing.     With  his  Por- 
trait.    One  volume. 

Agnes  Grey:  an  Autobiography. 
By  author  of  "  Jane  Eyre." 

Eva  St.  Clair.  By  G.  P.  R.  James, 
author  of  "  Richelieu." 

The  Beautiful  French  Girl. 
An  absorbing  book. 

Female  Life  in  New  York. 
Beautifully  Illustrated. 

Ryan's  Mysteries  of  Mar- 
riage. Illustrated. 

Mysteries  of  Bedlam;  or,  An- 
nals of  a  Mad  House. 

The  Orphan  Child.  By  the  Coun- 
tess of  Blessington. 

The  Monk.     By  Matthew  G.  Lewis. 


The  Ghost  Stories.  A  Wonderful 
Book.    Illustrated. 

Madison's  Exposition  of  Odd 
Fellowship. 

Abednego,    the    Money    Len- 
der.   By  Mrs.  Gore. 

Gliddon's      Ancient       Egypt, 

her  Monuments,  Relics,  &c. 

Josephine.     By  Grace  Aguilar,  au- 
thor of  "  Home  Influence." 

Bell   Brandon,  and  The  Withered 
Fig  Tree.     A  $.300  prize  novel. 

Mysteries  of  a  Convent.    By  a 

Methodist  Preacher. 
Philip  in    Search  of  a  Wife. 

An  excellent  work. 
Diary  of  a  Physician.    Second 

Series. 

Emigrant  Squire.    By  author  of 
"Bell  Brandon." 


HGHWAYMEN,    MURDERERS,    etc, 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 


Life    of  John    A.  Murrel,  the 

Western  Land  Pirate. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Jo- 
seph T.  Hare. 

Life  of  Col.  Monroe  Edwards. 
Illustrated. 

Life  of  Helen  Jewett,  «fc  Rich- 
ard P.  Robinson. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Jack 
Rann.  Illustrated. 

The  Robber's  Wife.  A  Domestic 
Romance. 

Red  Wing$  or,  Weird  Cruiser  of 
Van  Dieman's  Land. 

Obi ;  or,  Three  -  Fingered 
Jack. 

Kit  Clayton.  A  Sequel  to  Jack 
Rann. 

Tom  Waters ;  or,  The  Haunted 
Highwayman. 


Lives  of  the  Felons.  Beautifully 
Illustrated. 

Nat  Blake  ;  or,  The  Doomed  High- 
wayman. Illustrated. 

Bill  Horton  ;  or,  The  Doomed  High- 
wayman. Illustrated. 

Galloping  Gus  ;  or,  The  Purse  and 
the  Pistol. 

Ned  Hastings ;  or,  The  Terror  of 
the  Road.  Illustrated. 

Biddy  Woodhull,  the  Beauti- 
ful Haymaker. 

Eveleen  Wilson;   or,  The  Triala 

of  an  Orphan  Girl. 
The  Diary  of  a  Pawnbroker. 

June  Illustrations. 

Silver  and  Pewter ;  or,  Coutra.st 

in  New  York  Life. 
Sweeny    Todd; 

Barber. 


or,    The    Ruffian 


REVOLUTIONARY    TALES. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 


The  Seven  Brothers  of  Wy- 
oming ;  or,  The  Brigands  of  the 
American  Revolution, 

The  Brigand;  or,  The  Mountain 
Chief. 

The  Rebel  Bride.  A  Revolution- 
ary Romance. 

Ralph  Runnion;  or,  The  Out- 
law's Doom. 


Flying    Artillerist.     A  Tale  of 
Mexican  Treachery. 

Old    Put ;   or,   The  Days  of  76.     A 

Revolutionary  Tale. 

Wau-iian-gee ;  or,  The  Massacre 
at  Chicago. 

The  Guerilla  Chief.   A  Romance 
of  War.     Price  50  c*nts. 


16    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


SEA    AND    PIRATICAL    TALES. 


Pictorial  Life  and  Adven- 
tures of  Jack  Adams,  the  cele- 
brated Sailor  and  Mutineer.  50  cents. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Ben 
Brace,  the  Sailor.  Price  50  cents. 


The  Petrel ;  or,  Love  on  the  Ocean. 
A  Sea  Novel  equal  to  the  best.  By  Ad- 
miral Fisher.  One  volume.  60  cts. 

The  Spitfire.  A  Tale  of  the  Soa. 
By  Capt.  Chamier.  Price  50  cents. 


Price  of  the  following  ones,  are  only  Ficenty-Five  Cent*  each. 


The     Doomed     Snip ;      or,    The 

Wreck    of    the   Arctic    Regions.     By 

Harry  Hazel. 

The  Pirate's  Son.    Illustrated. 
The     Three     Pirates;     or,    The 

Cruise  of  the  Tornado. 
The  Flying  Dutchman. 
Life  of  Alexander  Tardy,  the 

Pirate. 
The  Flying  Yankee.    By  Harry 

Hazel. 
The  Yankee  Middy  ;  or,  The  Two 

Frigates. 
The  Gold  Seekers ;  or,  Cruise  of 

the  Lively  Sally. 
The    River   Pirates.    A  Tale  of 

New  York,  founded  on  fact. 
Dark     Shades    of    City    Life. 

A  Sequel  to  "  River  Pirates." 

The  Rats  of  the  Seine  ;   or,  The 

River  Thieves  of  Paris. 


Yankees    in  Japan;  or,  The  Xi- 

ventures  of  a  Sailor. 
Red  King  ;  or,  The  Corsair  Chieftain. 
Morgan,   the    Buccaneer;    or, 

The  Freebooters  of  the  Antilles. 
Jack    Junk;    or,  The  Tar    for  all 

Weathers. 

Davis,  the  Pirate ;  or,  The  Free- 
booter of  the  Pacific. 
Valdez,  the  Pirate  ;  His  Life  and 

Adventures. 
Jack  Ariel;  or,  Life  on  Board  an 

East  Indiamau. 
Gallant  Tom  ;  or,  The  Perils  of  the 

Ocean. 
Yankee  Jack;   or,  The  Perils  of  a 

Privateersman. 

Harry  Helm  ;  or,  The  Cruise  of  the 

Bloodhound. 

Harry  Tempest;  or,  The  Pirate's 
Protege. 


LANGUAGES  WITHOUT  A.  MASTER. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 
Master. 


French    without    a 

In  Six  Easy  Lessons. 
Spanish    without    a    Master. 

In  Four  Easy  Lessons. 

German    without    a    Master. 

In  Six  Easy  Lessons. 


Italian  without  a  Master.    In 

Five  Easy  Lessons. 
Latin  without    a    Master.    Ii> 

Six  Easy  Lessons. 

The  whole  of  the  five  works  are  alsv 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 


By   Author  of   "  "WILD   "WESTERN    SCENES." 


Life  and  Adventures  of  Col. 
Vanderhomb.  By  author  "  Wild 
Western  Scenes,"  etc.  50  cents. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Ned 
Lorn.  By  the  author  of  "  Wild  West- 
ern Scenes."  One  vol.,  cloth.  $1.00. 


The  Rival  Belles;  or,  Life  in 
Washington.  By  J.  B.  Jones,  author  of 
"Wild  Western  Scenes,"  etc.  Two 
volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00 ; 
or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for 
$1.25.  (In  Press.) 


NEEDLE-WORK,    EMBROIDERIES,   ETC. 

Miss  Lambert's  Complete 
Guide  to  Needle-work  &, 
Embroidery;  containing  Clear 
and  Practical  Instructions  whereby 
any  one  can  easily  learn  how  to  do  all 
kinds  of  Plain  and  Fancy  Needlework, 
Tapestry  Work,  Turkish  Work,  Per- 
sian W<.]-k.  Clienillc,  Braid,  etc.  ;  Ber- 
lin Patterns,  Embroidery,  Stitches  of  all  | 


kinds,  Lace  Imitations,  Mosaic  Canvas, 
Canvas  Work,  Crochet,  Knitting,  Net- 
ting, Bead  Work,  Russian  Crochet, 
Edgings,  etc. ;  Fringes,  Scarfs,  Shawls, 
Collars,  Slippers,  China  Purses,  Braid- 
ing and  Applique,  Implements,  Varie- 
ties of  Silk,  Materials,  etc.,  etc.  ;  with 
113  Illustrations  and  Diagrams.  By 
Miss  Lambert.  Price  $1.25,  in  cloth 


T.  B,  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    17 


BY  VARIOUS  GOOD  AUTHORS. 


The    Iron    Cross.      By  Sylvanus 

Cobb,  Jr.    Price  25  cents. 
The  King's  Crxiisers.    By  Harry 

Hazel.     Price  2j  cents. 
Charles    Ransford ;  or,  Love  on 

Board  a  Cruiser.    Price  25  cents. 


Sybil  Grey;  or,  The  Triumphs  of 
Virtue.  A  Komance  of  the  Opera. 
Price  25  cents. 

The  Mysterious  Marriage.    A 

True    Komance    of   New  York    Life 
Price  2o  cents. 


EXCELLENT    SHILLING    BOOKS. 

Price  Yiyz  cents  each,  or  Eight  for  $1.00. 


Christinas     Carol.      By    Charles 

Dickens.     Price  12>£  cents. 
The  Chimes.     ByCharles  Dickens. 

Price  12}£  cents. 
Cricket  on  the  Hearth.  By 

Charles  Dickens.     Price  12>£  cents. 
Battle  of  Life.  By  Charles  Dickens. 

Price  12>£  cents. 
The  Holly  -  Tree  Inn.  By 

Charles  Dickens.     Price  12>£  cents. 
Seven    Poor     Travelers.       By 

Charles  Dickens.     Price  12>£  cents. 
Schoolboy,  and  other  Stories. 

By  Charles  Dickens.    Price  12>£  cents. 

Sister  Rose.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

Price  123^  cents. 
Lizzie  Leigh,  and  Miner's 

Daughters.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

Price  12,}!j  cents. 
The  Haunted  Man,  and  The 

Ghost's    Bargain.     By  Charles 

Dickeas.    Price  12}£  cents. 


By 


Mother  and  Stepmother. 

Charles  Dickens.     Price  12^  cents. 

A  Wife's  Story.  From  Household 
Words.  Price  12)£  cents. 

Yellow  Mask.  From  Household 
Words.  Price  12>£  cents. 

Throne  of  Iniquity.  By  Albert 
Barnes.  Price  12>£  cents. 

Woman.  By  Lucretia  Mott,  the 
Quaker  Preacher.  Price  123£  cents. 

Game  of  Euchre  and  its 
Laws.  Price  12>£  cents. 

Dr.  Berg's  Answer  to  Arch- 
bishop Hughes.  12)£  cents. 

Dr.  Berg's  lecture  on.  the 
Jesuits.  Price  12>£  cts. 

Life  of  the  Rev.  John  N. 
Maffit.  Price  Viyz  cents. 

Odd  Fellowship  Exposed.  Il- 
lustrated. Price  12)£  cents. 

Mormonism  Exposed.  Full  of 
Engravings.  Price  12>£  cent*. 


1. 6.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  POBUCiTIOHS 


the  Books  in  this  Catalogue  wiU  be  found  to  be  the  very  Best  and  Lates- 
Publications  by  the  most  popular  and  celebrated  writers  in  the  world. 
They  are  also  the  most  readable  and  entertaining  Books,  and  are  printed 
for  the  "  Million,"  at  very  cheap  rates,  and  copies  of  all  or  any  of  them 
wi)l  be  sent  by  Mail,  free  of  postage,  to  any  person,  on  receipt  o* 
tho  advertised  price.  They  ar&  suitable  for  the 

f  arlor,  Library,  Sitting  Room,  Railroad,  Steamboat,  or  Chamber  Reading, 

AND  AKE  PUBLISHED  AND  FOB  SALE  BY 

T.  B.  PETERSON,  No.  102  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 
Booksellers,  and  all  others,  will  be  supplied  at  very  Low  Bates, 


MRS  SOUTHWORTHS'. 

CHARLES  LEVER'S. 

Vivia  ;  or,  The  Secret 

Charles  O'Malley,                50 

of  Power,        -        -    1  00 

Knight  of  Gwynne,             50 

India.     The  Pearl  of 

Arthur  O'Leary,                  60 

Pearl  River,     -        -    1  00 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours,           60 

The  Missing  Bride,     -    1  00 

Jack  Hinton,       -                50 

The  Lost  Heiress,        -    1  00 

Harry  Lorrequer,                60 

Deserted  Wife,    -        -    1  00 

Horace  Templeton,             60 

Wife's  Victory,  -        -    1  00 

Kate  O'Donoghue,               60 

Curse  of  Clifton,         -    1  00 

Lever's  works  are  alsobound 

Discarded  Daughter,  -    1  00 

in  four  volumes,  in  black 

Retribution,        -        -    1  00 

cloth,   for  $600.     Scarlet 

Initials,       -        -        -    1  §0 

cloth,  $6.50.    Law  Library 

Kate  Aylesford,          -    1  00 

sheep  $7.00.  Half  calf  $9.00 

Mabel,         -        -        -    1  00 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year,    1.00 

The  above  are  also  published 

Valentine    Vox,    the 

in  cloth,  price  $1.25  each. 

Ventriloquist,          -        60 

Th.6  Sist6rs         •        •        60 

MRS.  HENTZ'S  WORKS. 

The  Steward,                      60 

The  Planter's  Northern 

Percy  Effingham,       -       60 

Bride,      -        -        -    1  00 
Liada,         -        -        -    1  00 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS'. 

Robert  Graham,         -    1  00 

The  Three  Guardsmen,      75 

Courtship  and  Marriage  1  00 

Twenty  Years  After,  -        75 

Rena  ;  or  the  Snow  Bird  1  00 

Bragelonne,                        75 

Marcus  Warland,       -    1  00 

The  Iron  Hand,          -       50 

Love  after  Marriage,  -    1  00 

Forty-Five  Guardsmen,    75 

Eoline,        -        -        -    1  00 

Memoirs  of  a  Marquis,    1  00 

The  Banished  Son,     -    1  00 

Andree  de  Taverney,  -    1  00 

Helen  and  Arthur,     -    1  00 

Countess  of  Charny,  -    1  00 

Annt  Patty's  Scrap  Bag,  1  00 
The  above  are  also  published 

The  Iron  Mask,           -    1  00 
Louise  La  Valliere,     •    1  00 

in  cloth,  price  $1.25  each. 

Memoirs  of  a  Physician,  1  00 

ELLEN   PICKERING'S. 

Queen's  Necklace,       -    1  00 
Diana  of  Meridor,       -    1  00 

Orphan  Niece.     -        -        25 

Six  Years  Later,          •    1  00 

Kate  Walsingham,     -        25 

Felina  de  Chambure,         CO 

Poor  Cousin.        -        -        2ft 

Gouevieve,                             50 

Ellen  Wareham,          -        25 

Sketches  in  France,    -        60 

Who  Shall  be  Heir  ?  •        2o 

Isabel  of  Bavaria,       -        60 

Secret  Foe,           •                25 

Edmond  Dantes,         .        60 

Expectant,           •                 25 

Corsican  Brothers,      -        25 

Fright,         -        -                25 
iuiet  Ilu.eban<L  •                2-r> 

LIPPARD'S  WORKS. 

Nan  Darrelt,                        25 

Washington  &  Generals,  1  00 

Prince  and  Ped'ai,              25 

Quaker  City,       -        -    1  00 

Merchant's  Daughter         25 

Paul  Ardenheim,        •    1  00 

The  Squire,         -                25 

Blanche  of  Brandywine,  1  00 

Agnen  Serle,        •                25 

The  Nazarene,    -        -        60 

The  Heiress,       «               2ft 

Legends  of  Mexico,    -        25 

fctwOrumblff.    -               50 

Ladye  of  Albarone,    •    1  00 

CHAELES  DICKENS'. 

David  Copperfield,      -        50 

Dombey  and  Son,        -        60 

Nicholas  Nickleby,      •        50 

Pickwick  Papers,        -       50 

Christmas  Stories,       -        50 

Martin  Chuzzlewit,    -        50 

Barnaby  Rudge,          -        50 

Dickens'  New  Stories,         50 

Bleak  House,  -        50 

Old  Curiosity  Shop,    -        60 

Sketches  by  "  Boz,"    -        60 

Oliver  Twist,        -        -        50 

A  complete  sett  of  the  above 

will  be  sold  for  $5;  also, 

bound  in  five  vols.,  black 

cloth,  for  $7.50.      Scarlet 

cloth,  for  $8.50.     Law  Li- 

brary  Sheep,  for  $9.00.  The 

Illustrated  edition  is  $1.50 

a  volume,  or  $18  for  the 

complete  sett  of  12  volumes. 

FRANK    FAIBLEGH'S. 

Frank  Fairlegh,         -       60 
Lewis  Arundel,          -       75 
Harry  Coverdale's  Court- 
ship,       -       -       -    1  00 
Lorrimer  Littlegood,      1  00 
Fortunes    and   Misfor- 
tunes of  Harry  Rack- 
ett  Scapegrace,       -       60 

BOOKS  OF  FUN. 

Major  Jones'  Courtship 
and  Travels.  Cloth,  1  28 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures 
and  Travels.    Cloth,  1  25 

Major  Jones'  Scenesin  , 
Georgia.  Cloth,  -  1  2A 

Humors  of  Falcoubridgel  00 

Frank  Forester's  Sport- 
ing Scenes  and  Cha- 
racters. 2  vols.,  cloth,  2  50 

Dow 's  Patent  Sermons. 
By  Dow,  Jr.  Svols., 
each,  -  -  -  7fi 

Piney  Woods  Tavern,    1  00 

Adventures  of  Captain 
Priest,     ...       7« 

American  Joe  Miller.        Sft 


HUMOROUS  WORKS. 

REYNOLDS'  WOUES. 

HIGHWAYMEN. 

BEAtTTIFULLr  ILLUSTRATED. 

Mysteries  of  the  Court 

Life  of  John  A.  Murrel,      28 

Major  Jones'  Courtship,     50 

of  London.   2  vols.      1  00 

Life  of  Joseph  T.  Hare,       25 

Major  Jones'  Sketches 

Rose  Foster.     3  vols.      1  50 

Life  of  Monroo  Edward*,    25 

of  Travel,        -        -        50 

Caroline  of  Brunswick.  1  00 

Life  of  Helen  Jewett,        25 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures,  50 

Venetia  Trelawney,       1  00 

Life  of  Jack  Rann,     -        25 

Mitfcr  Jones'  Chronicles 

Lord  Saxondaio,              1  00 

Kit  Clayton,       -                25 

of  Pineville,    -        -        50 

Count  Christoval,           1  00 

Lives  of  the  Felons            25 

Polly       Peablossom's 

Rosa  Lambert,                 1  00 

Tom  Waters,      -                25 

Wedding,         -        -        50 

Mary  Price,        -             1  00 

Nat  Blake,          -                25 

Widow  Rugby's  Husband,  50 

Eustace  Quentin,        -    1  00 

Bill  Horton,        -                25 

•>ig  Bear  of  Arkansas,        50 

Joseph  Wilmot,          -    1  00 

Galloping  Gus,   -                25 

Btreaks  of  Squatter  Life,    50 

Banker's  Daughter,  -    1  00 

Ned  Hastings,     -                25 

1  Pickings  from  Picayune,    50 

Kenneth,    -        -        -    1  00 

Biddy  Woodhull,                25 

Stray  Subjects  arrested 

The  Rye-House  Plot,      1  00 

Eveleen  Wilson,         -        26 

and  Bound  Over,     -        50 

Isabella  Vincent,        -       50 

Diary  of  a  Pawnbroker,    2.1 

Louisiana  Swamj  Doctor,   50 

Vivian  Bertram,         -        60 

Silver  and  Pewter,     -        25 

Charcoal  Sketches,      -        50 

Countess  of  Lascelles,        60 

Sweeney  Todd,  -       -       25 

Misfortunes  of  Peter  Faber,50 
Peter  Ploddy,      -        -        50 
Yankee  among  Mermaids,  50 

Duke  of  Marchmont,  -        60 
The  Necromancer,       -        75 
The  Soldier's  Wife,    -       60 

TALES  OF  THE  SEA. 
Adventures  of  Ben  Brace,  50 

New  Orleans  Sketch  Book,  50 

May  Middleton,          -        60 

Jack  Adams,the  Mutineer.  50 

Drama  in  Pokerville,  -        50 

Massacre  of  Glencoe,  -        60 

The  Spitfire,        -        -      '  50 

The  Charms  of  Paris,-        50 

The  Court  of  Naples,         50 

The  Petrel,         -        -        60 

The  Quorndon  Hounds,     60 

Loves  of  the  Harem,  -        60 

The  Pirate's  Son,        -        25 

My  Shooting  Box,      -        60 

Ellen  Percy,        -        -        60 

The  Doomed  Ship,      -        25 

Warwick  Woodlands,       60 

Agnes  Evelyn,                    60 

The  Three  Pirates,     -        25 

The  Deer  Stalkers,     -       60 
Adventures  of  Captain 

Edgar  Montrose,         -       25 
Parricide,             -        -        60 

The  Flying  Dutchman,      25 
Life  of  Alexander  Tardy,    25 

Farrago,           -        -        50 

Life  in  Paris,       -       -       50 

The  Flying  Yankee,  -        25 

Major  0'  Regan's  Ad- 
ventures,                         50 
Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical 
Apprenticeship,       -        50 
Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical 

CAPT.  MARRYATT'B. 

Jacob  Faithful,  -        -        25 
Japhet  Search  of  Father,    25 
Phantom  Ship,    -        -        25 

The  Yankee  Middy,   -        25 
The  Gold  Seekers,       -        25 
The  River  Pirates,      -        25 
Dark  Shades  of  City  Life,   25 
The  Rats  of  the  Seine,         25 

Journey-Work,        -        50 
Quarter  Race  Kentucky,    50 
Rival  Belles,        -       -       50 

Midshipman  Easy,      -        25 
Pacha  of  Many  Tales,        25 
Naval  Officer,      -        -        25 

Yankees  in  Japan,      •        25 
Red  King,  ...        25 
Morgan,  the  Buccaneer,     25 

Life  of  Col.  Vanderbomb,  60 
Life  and  Adventures  of 

Snarleyow,                           25 
Newton  Foster,  •       •       25 

Jack  Junk,          -        -        25 
Davis,  the  Pirate,       -       25 

Percival  Mayberry,         50 
Yankee     Yarns     and 

King's  Own,                        25 
Pirate  &  Three  Cutters,      25 

Valdez,  the  Pirate,    -       25 
Jack  Ariel,          -        -        25 

Yankee  Letters,       -       50 

Peter  Simple,                      50 

Gallant  Tom,      -       -       25 

Percival  Keene,          -       50 

Yankee  Jack      •        •        25 

MRS.  GREY'S. 

Poor  Jack,           -       -       60 

Harry  Helm,      -        -        25 

Gipsey's  Daughter,     •       25 

Sea  King,                             50 

IT    t       •                                                              wr 

Harry  Tempest,         -       25 

Lena  Cameron,           •       25 

Valerie,                                5C 

Belle  of  the  Family,  -       25 

AINSWORTH'S. 

REVOLUTION  TALES. 

Sybil  Lennard,           -       25 
Duke  and  Cousin,       -       25 
The  Little  Wife,          -        25 
Manoeuvring  Mother,         25 
Baronet's  Daughters,  -       25 
Young  Prima  Donna,         25 
Old  Dower  House,       -       25 
Hyacinthe,          -       -       25 
Alice  Seymour,                   25 
Mary  Seaham,    -       -       50 
Passion  and  Principle,        60 

Jack  Sheppard,           -       50 
Tower  of  London,       -    1  00 
Guy  Fawkes,       -       •       60 
The  Star  Chamber,     -       50 
Newgate  Calendar,     •       50 
Old  St  Paul's,     -       -       60 
Mysteries  of  the  Court 
of  Queen  Anne,              50 
Mysteries  of  the  Court 
of  the  Stuarts,                50 
Life  of  Davy  Crockett,        60 

Seven  Bros,  of  Wyoming,  25 
The  Brigand,      -        -        25 
The  Rebel  Bride,        -       25 
Ralph  Runnion,         -        25 
The  Flying  Artillerist,        25 
Old  Put,      ...       25 
Wau-nan-gee,                     2* 
The  Guerilla  Chief,    -       1+ 

MAITLAND'S  WORKS. 
The  Watchman,         -    1  09 

D'ISRAELI'S  WORKS. 

Henrietta  Temple,     •       60 
Tlyian  Grey,                      50 
Venetia,                              60 

Life  of  Henry  Thomas,      25 
Dick  Turpin,       -        -        25 
Desperadoes  New  World,    25 
Ninon  De  L'Enclos,    -        25 

The  Wanderer,  -       -    1  Of 
Diary  of  aa  Old  Doctor,  1  00 
The  Lawyer's  Story,  -    1  00 
Above  in  cloth,  $1.25  each. 

Young  Duke               •        38 
Miriam  Alroy,    -       -       38 

Lite  of  Arthur  Spring,       25 
Life  of  Grace  O'Malley,       38 

EUGENE  SUE'S, 

Contarini  Fleming     -       38 

Windsor  Castle,         -       60 

Martin,  the  Foundling,  1  00 

Wandering  Jew,         -    1  00 

LANGUAGES. 

GREEN  ON  GAMBLING 

Mysteries  of  Paris,     -    1  00 

French  without  a  Master,  25 

Gambling  Exposed,    -    1  00 

First  Love,          -        •        25 

Rpanish  without  a  Master,  25 

Gambling  Unmasked,    1  00 

Woman's  Love,                   26 

German  without  a  Master,  25 

Secret  Baud  of  Brothers,  1  00 

Man-of-War's-Man,     .        26 

Italian  without  a  Master,  25 

The  Reformed  Gambler,  1  00 

Femalo  Bluebeard,     »       2ft 

Latin  without  a  Master,    25 

Ab4  ve  tn  oloth,  <*!  25  -wch. 

RaouJ  JU  SurTilid,      •       &• 

T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.        3 


COOK  BOOKS. 

BY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

QUARTER  BOOKS. 

Miss     Leslie's     New 
Cookery  Book,        -    1  25 
Wirtiifleld's  New  Cook 

3urrerLyle,       -       -    1  00 
Modern  Chivalry,  cloth  i  25 
Columbia,  the  Beauti- 

Mysteries of  a  Convent,     29 
Female  Life  in  New  York,  25 
Agnes  Grey,        -       --        25 

Book,       -       -       -    1  00 

ful  Blonde.      -        -    1  00 

EvaSt-Clair,       -        -        25 

Mrs.  Hale's  Four  Thou- 

Life and   Beauties  of 

Diary  of  a  Physician,         26 

sand  &  Five  Receipts,  1  00 

Fanny  Fern,   -        -    1  00 

Emigrant  Squire,       -        25 

Miss  Leslie's  New  Re- 

The Pride  of  Life,      -    1  00 

Monk,  by  Lewis,         -        25 

ceipts  for  Cooking,  -    1  00 
Mrr  Bale's  New  Cook 
Book,       -       -       -    1  00 

Autobiography  of  an 
Orphan  Girl,            -    1  00 
The  Student,       -        -    1  00 

Beautiful  French  Girl,       25 
Mysteries  of  Bedlam,         25 
Abednego,  by  Mrs.  a*>r«»   25 

ARTHUR'S  WORKS. 

Adelaide  Waldgrave,          50 
Greatest  Plague  of  Life,       60 

The  Orphan  Child,    -        2fl 
Ghost  Stories,      -        -        2ft 

The  Two  Brides,          -        25 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  as 

Madison's    Exposition 

Love  in  a  Cottage,      -        25 

it  Is,         -        -        -    1  00 

of  Odd  Fellowship,  -        25 

Love  in  High  Life,      -        25 
Year  after  Marriage,  -        25 

Tom  Racquet,                      $0 
Mysteries  of  Three  Cities,    60 

Abbey  of  Innismoyle,        2* 
Gliddon's  Ancient  Egypij  25 

The  Lady  at  Home,     -        25 

Red   Indians  of  New- 

Josephine,          -        -        25 

Cecilia  Howard,           -        25 

foundland,                         50 

Bell  Brandon,      -        -        25 

Orphan  Children,        -        25 

Roman  Traitor,  -        -    1  00 

Philip  in  Search  of  a  Wih,  25 

Debtor's  Daughter,     -        25 

Salathiel,  by  Croley,  -        50 

Admiral's  Daughter,  -        25 

Mary  Moreton.             -        25 

Aristocracy,         -        -        50 

Rody  the  Rover,          -        25 

The  Divorced  Wife,    -        25 

Inquisition  in  Spain,  -         50 

Jenuy  Ambrose,          •        25 

Pride  and  Prudence,  -        25 

Flirtations  in  America,       50 

Moreton  Hall,     -        -        25 

Agnes,  or  the  Possessed,    25 
Lucy  Sandford,           -        25 

The  Coquette,      -        -        50 
Arrah  Neil,  by  James,        50 

Agricultural  Chemistry,     '25 
Animal  Chemistry,     -        25 

The  Banker's  Wife,    -        25 

Life  in  the  South,       -        50 

Liebig's  Potato  Disease,      25 

The  Two  Merchants,  -        25 

Sketches  in  Ireland,  -        50 

Rose  Warrington,      -        25 

Insubordination,         -        25 

Whitehall,           -        -        50 

Lady  Altamont,           -        25 

Trial  and  Triumph,    •        25 

Whitefriars,         -        -        50 

The    Deformed,     and 

The  Iron  Rule,            -        25 
The  Old  Astrologer,    -        25 

Wild  Sports  of  West,  -        50 
Cabin  and  Parlor,       -        50 

Charity  Sister,        -        25 
Ryan's    Mysteries    of 

The  Seamstress,           •        25 

Uomish  Confessional,         50 

Marriage,         -        -        25 

USEFUL  BOOKS. 

Father  Clement,          •        50 
Fortune  Hunter,        .        33 

Uncle  Tom  iu  England,       25 

Lardner's  One  Thou- 

Genevra,     ...        50 

CHRISTY  &  WHITE'S 

sand  and  Ten  Things 
Worth  Knowing,    -        25 

Miser's  Heir,       -        -        50 
Victims  of  Amusements,    37 

SONG  BOOKS. 

How  to  get  Rich,        -        25 

Henry  Clay's  Portrait,    1  00 

Christy    and   Wood'* 

Etiquette  for  All.  Cloth,    75 
Five  Languages  with- 

Siege of  Londonderry,        37 
The  Orphan  Sisters,   - 

Complete  Songster,          12 
Melodeca  Song  Book,         12 

out  a  Master.  Cloth,    1  25 

Two  Lovers,       -        -       60 

Plantation  Melodies,  -        12 

P->cket  Library  of  Use- 
ful Knowledge,        -        50 
Lady's  Work  Table  Book,  50 
Gentlemen's  Etiquette,       25 
Ladies'  Etiquette,        -        25 
Kitchen  Gardener,      -        25 
Complete  Florist,        -        25 
Knowlson's  Horse  Doctor,  25 

ADVENTURES. 

Adventures  in  Africa,     1  00 
Adventures  of  Ned  Lorn.l  00 
Don  Quixotte,      -        -    1  00 
Wild  Oats  Sown  Abroad,     5U 
Life  and  Adventures  of 
Paul  Periwinkle,   -        50 

Ethiopian  Song  Book,         12 
Serenader's  Song  Book,      12 
Complete  Ethiopian  Me- 
lodies, by  Christy  and 
White.     Cloth,           -    75 

12  CENT  BOOKS. 

Knowlson's  Cow  Doctor,     25 

GEORGE  SANDS' 

Seven  Poor  Travelers,        1<4 

irthur's  Receipts  for 
Putting    up   Fruits 
aad  Vegetables    in 
Summer  to  Keep,    -        12 

First  and  True  Love,  -        50 
Indiana,       ...        50 
The  Corsair,        -        -        25 

The  Schoolboy,           -        12 
Lizzie  Leigh,       -        -        12 
Christmas  Carol,         -        12 
The  Chimes,         -        -        12 

EMERSON  BENNETT'S. 
Fhe  Border  Rover,         1  00 

C.  J.  PETERSON'S. 

Mabel  ;  or,   Darkness 
and  Dawn       -        -    1  00 

Cricket  on  the  Hearth,        12 
Battle  of  Life,     -        -        12 
Haunted  Man,    -        -        12 

Clara  Moreland,                  50 
Viola,           -                        50 
Bride  of  Wilderness,           50 
Ellen  Norburj,                    50 
Forged  Will,        •                50 

Kate  Aylesfo'rd,           -    1  00 
Cruising  in  Last  War,         50 
Grace  Dudley,     •                 25 
Valley  Farm,       -        -        25 

Sister  Rose,          -                 12 
Yellow  Mask,      -        -        12 
Mother  &  Step  Mother,        1  2 
A  Wife's  Story,    -        -        12 
Odd  Fellowship  Exposed,    1  'J 

Kate  Clarendon                   60 

SERMONS. 

Mormonism  Exposed,         12 

Pioneer's  Daughtor.            50 

America's  Mission,     •        25 

Duties  of  Woman,  by 

Heirew.  of  Bellefoute 

1  hankfulness  and  Cha- 

Lucretia Mott,         •        12 

and  Walde-Warren         50 

racter,      ---        25 

The  Holly-Tiee  Inn,  -        1* 

Politics  in  Religion.    ••        1^ 

Life  of  John  Maffit,    -        12 

BULWER'S  NOVELS. 

DR.  HOLLICK'S. 

Euchre  and  its  Laws,         12 
l>mue  of  Iniquity,    • 

Falkland,                             2e 

Anatomy  &  Physiology,  I  00 

Dr.  liens  on  Jesuits,    -        12 

The  OxMiSai  H,              •        2* 

Dr.   llollick's    Family 

Dr.  BtTg's  Answer  fo 

CaJderon.  thv  Courtier        1- 

Physician,        •        •        26 

.m-iii/bhoi  11-j^hea.        13 

T.  B.  PETERSON'S  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.     15 
WORKS  BY  THE  BEST  AUTHORS. 

FLIRTATIONS  IN  AMERICA;  OR  HIGH  LIFE  IN  NEW  YORK.  A 
capital  book.  285  pages.  Price  50  cents. 

DON  QUIXOTTE.— ILLUSTRATED  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  09 
DON  QUIXOTTE  DE  LA  MANCHA,  and  his  Squire  Sancho  Panza» 
with  all  the  original  notes.  300  pages.  Price  75  cents. 

WILD  SPORTS  IN  THE  WEST.  By  W.  II.  Maxwell,  author  of  «  ?i«- 
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THE  ROMISH  CONFESSIONAL;  or,  the  Auricular  Confession  and  Spi- 
ritual direction  of  the  Romish  Church.  Its  History,  Consequences, 
and  policy  of  the  Jesuits.  By  M.  Michelet.  Price  50  cents. 

GENEVRA ;  or,  the  History  of  a  Portrait.  By  Miss  Fairfield,  one  of  tht 
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WILD  OATS  SOWN  ABROAD  ;  OR,  ON  AND  OFF  SOUNDINGS.  It 
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LLORENTE'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  INQUISITION  IN  SPAIN.  Only 
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DR.  HOLLICK'S  NEW  BOOK.    ANATOMY    AND   PHYSIOLOGY, 

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MYSTERIES  OF  THREE  CITIES.  Boston,  New  York,  and  Philadel- 
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mm  mi® 


OR, 


ON    AND    OFF    SOUNDINGS, 


A 


©IF 


A   NEW   AND   EXQUISITELY   ORIGINAL   WORK. 

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Price  Fifty  Cents  in  Paper ;  or  Seventy  Five  Cents  in  Cloth. 

Wild  Oats  Sown  Abroad  is  a  splendid  work.  It  is  the  Private  Journal 
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annals  of  literature,  for  nothing  equal  to  it  in  spiciness,  vivacity,  and  real 
Bonnes  and  observations  in  daily  travel,  has'  ever  appeared  from  the  press. 

TABLE  Or  CONTENTS  OF  THIS  EXTRAORDINARY  WORK. 

Abelard  and  Hcloisfl. 
Scenes  on  the  Road. 
The  ''Tug  of  War." 
"  There  they  are,  by  Jove!" 
The  Raven-Haired  One! 
Heaven  and  Hell ! 
The  "  Hamlet"  of  Sculpture. 
The  Modern  Susannah, 
take    care    of    Hey,  Presto!  Change! 

The  Death  Scene    cf  Cleo- 


and 


e  Journal.  A  View  in  Lyons 

Adventure  in  search  of  Ruin.  Aviguou  —  Petrarch 
Parting  Tribute  to  Ijove.  Laura. 

Three  Desperate  Days!  Our  First  Ruin. 

The  Poetry  of  Sea-Sickness.  The  Unconscious  Blessing. 
The  Red  Flannel  Night-Cap.  A  Crash  and  a  Wreck. 
A  Ship  by  Moonlight.  The  Hail  road  of  Life. 

Arrival  in  London.  A  Night  Adventure. 

The  Parks  of  London.  "  The  Gods 

Foot's  Corner,  Westminster      Cato." 


Abbey. 
England's  Monuments. 
Madame     lus.saud's     Wax 

Works. 


The  "  Beauties"  of 
ton  Court. 

Love  and  Philosophy. 

"  Love's  Labor  Ixwt." 

A  Prop  at  "  The  Shades." 

The  Modern  "  Aspasia." 

Nob'e  Plea  for  M?.trimony. 

The  Lily  on  the  Shore. 

Knglish  Mother  and  Ameri- 
can Daughter. 

The  "  M;iid  of  Normanilie." 

An  Effecting  Scene. 

'  Paris  est  un  Artist." 

The  Guillotine. 

4  (live  us  Another!" 

Post  Mort<-ni  Reflection*. 
Criticism. 


The  Triumphs  of  Neptune.       patra. 
The  Marquisi's  Foot.  An  Eulogy  on  Tuscany. 

Beauties  of'Naples  Bay.          A  Real  Ciaude  Sunset. 
Natural  History  of 'the  Laz-  Tasso  and  Byron. 


Hamp-      zaroui 

The  True  Venus. 
Love  and  Devotion. 
The  Mortality  of  Pompeii. 
Procession  of  the  Host. 
The  Ascent  of  Vesuvius.1 
The  Mountain  Emetic. 
The  Human  Projectile 
The  City  of  the  Soul. 
The  Coup  de  Main. 
Night  in  the  Cnlfoeum! 
Catholicity  Considered. 
Power  Passing  Away! 
Byvon  Among  the  Ruins. 
A  Gossip  with  the  Artists. 
Speaking  Gems. 
"  Weep  for  Adonis !' 


V'hiskev  Punch  and  Logic.    The  Lady  and  the  God. 

'Shylocksisks  f  r  Justice! 

"  Lorotte"  and  "Grisettc." 

Klwinsr  l>ay. 

TI.e  Tattoo. 

The  M.-.sked  Hall. 

The  Incognita. 

The  Charms  ot  Paris. 

Changing  Hurses. 


The'ShockingTeaml 
Floating*  in  Venice. 
The  Venetian  Girls. 
The  Bell-Crowned  Hat! 
The  "Lion's  Mouth." 
The  "  Bridge  of  Sighs  !" 
A  Subterranean  Fete! 
Byron  and  Moore  in  Venice. 
Diann  and  Endymion. 
The  Pinch  of  Snuff. 
The  Rock-Crystal  Coffin  I 
Eccentricity  of  Art. 
Thoughts  in  a  Monastery. 
The  Lake  of  Como. 
Immortal    Drummer  Boy 
Wit.  niid  its  Reward! 
The  Co'd  Bath. 
"  Here  we  are  !*' 
Tlie  Mountain  Expose. 
The    "Last    Rose  of  Sum 
inor." 


The  Science  of  I'salmistry. 

"  Sour  (Jrapes." 

A  Ramble  about  Tivoli. 

Illumination  of  St.  Peter"  B.  Wa!;iir,'  tlie  Echoe^ 

Tiie  '•  NMobfr  of  Nations."         Watching  the  Aviilinclie. 

A  Ghostly  Scene!  A  Beautiful  Incident. 

"  Ilonisnitntii  mal  y  pense."  A  Shot  with  the  Long  I  Jew. 

A  "  15all"  witliout  Music.         Mt.  Wane  and  a  full  stop. 

I'ru'e  fi.r  the  complete  work,  in  paper  cover,  Fifty  cents  a  copy  only  ;  Cf 
buiidsomcly  bound  in  muslin,  gilt,  tor  Seventy-Five  cents. 

Copies  of  either  edition  of  the  work  will  be  sent  to  any  person  at  all,  to 
any  r-irt  of  the  United  States,  free  of  postage,  on  their  remitting  the  prica 
of  the  edition  they  wish,  to  the  publisher,  in  a  letter,  post  paid. 
Published  find  fjr  S.-ile  by 

K«.  10-2  i;a 


T  .      D  .      PETERSON, 


ADVENTURES  IN  THE  FAR  SOUTH-WEST. 

in  n  \ 


BY  EMERSON  BENNETT. 

Complete  in  one  Volume  of  336  pages ;  full  of  beautiful  illustrations 
PRICE  FIFTY  CFNTS  IN  PAPER  COVER  j  OR  ONE  DOLLAR  A  COPY  IN  CLOTH,  GUT, 

Clu I'M  Morcland  is  truly  a  celebrated  work.  It  has  been  running  through  th« 
<v>kin;ns  of  -'The  Saturday  Evening  Post,"  where  it  has  been  appearing  for  the  last 
twelve  weeks,  and  has  proved  itself  to  be  o.ne  of  the  most  popular  works  that  has  ever 
appeared  in  the  columns  of  any  newspaper  in  this  country.  J5eforc  it  was  half  completed, 
the  bark  numbers  (although  Twelve  Thousand  extra  of  each  number  were  printed,) 
could  not  be  obtained  at  any  price,  and  the  Publishers  of  the  "  Post"  were  forced  to  issue 
a  f-'nppleuicnt  sheet  oithe  first  half  of  it  for  new  subscribers  to  their  paper,  which  induced 
the  present  publisher  to  make  ao  arrangement  with  the  popular  author,  to  bring  it  out 
in  a  beautiful  style  for  the  thousands  in  this  country  that  wish  it  in  book  form. 

It  is  purely  an  American  Rook,  and  one  of  those  interesting  and  beautiful  American 
Stories,  in  which  the  Publisher  in  its  announcement  feels  it  a  pleasing  duty  to  say  one 
word  of  its  popular  and  talented  author. 

K.MRRSON  BENNETT,  as  an  Author,  is  well  known  throughout  the  United  States;  and 
in  the  great  West,  and  far  extended  Southern  countries  his  writings  are  recognized  KS 
"  n-rusehold  Words" — ever  welcome  guests  in  the  comfortable  cabin  of  tho  Western 
W<xnlsman.  or  at  the  parlor  fireside  of  the  busy  Town  Merchant. 

His  glowing  and  truthful  descriptions  of  Wild  Western  Scenes  —  his  home-like 
familiarity  with  the  untaught  manners  and  singular  customs  of  the  Indian  Tribes  of 
the  Far  Wtest — his  exquisite  delineations  of  male  and  female  character — of  character 
civilized  and  of  character  savage — his  bold  and  artistic  sketches  in  the  dark  and  shadowy 
wilderness,  or  on  the  broad  and  untrodden  Prairie — all  acknowledge  his  dominion  in 
this  field  of  literature,  and  that  Bennett  now  holds  undisputed  sway  in  this  species  of 
American  Story. 

'•  We  consider  this  altogether  the  best  fiction  which  Mr.  Bennett  lias  yet  written.  In 
pHVin^  this*,  we  pay  him  the  highest  possible  compliment,  as  he  has  long  been  one  of  the 
most  popular  of  American  Novelists.  His  publisher  has  done  every  thing  that  was 
possible  to  add  to  the  pubiis  desire  for  the  work,  having  issued  it  in  a  very  handsome, 
style.  i*>  that  its  dress  might  not  disgrace  its  merits.  Clara  Moreland  is  destined  to  have 
an  immense  sale." — Ladies  National  Magazine. 

Price  for  the  complete  work,  in  paper  cover,  beautifully  illustrated.  Fifty  cents  a  copy 
on  ly ;  or  a  finer  edition,  printed  on  thicker  and  better  paper,  and  handsomely  bound  in 
muslin,  gilt,  is  published  for  One  Dollar. 

Cojii'-c  of  either  edition  of  the  work  will  be  sent  to  any  person  at  all,  to  any  part  of 
the  United  States,  free  of  postage,  on  their  remitting  the  price  of  the  edition  they  wi«L 
io  the  i  ublisher,  in  a  letter,  post-paid.  Published  and  for  sale  by 

T.  B.  PETERSON, 
No.  108  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia* 


LIFE  IN  THE  SOUTH. 

A    COMPANION    TO 

UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN. 


Complete  in  one  large  Octavo  volume  of  200  pages.    Price,  Fifty  Cents. 

Embellished  with  fourteen  full  page,  spirited  Illustrations,  designed  by  Barley,  andengrav»J 
In  the  finest  style  of  art,  and  printed  on  the  finest  tinted  plate  paper.  Copies  of  it  will  be  sent 
to  any  one  to  any  place,  free  of  postage,  on  their  remitting  Fifty  Cents  to  the  publisher  for  a 
•cpy.  Published  and  for  Sale  by 

T.    B.    PETERSON, 
No.  109  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia* 


A.  NJ2W  I3OOX  by  th?   AUTHOR  OS?  "  THH  \Y  A.TCII11.AN,''  & 

THE^WANDERER 


A  TALE    OF    LIFE'S    VICISSITUDES. 


BY   THE  AUTHOR  OF  "THE  WATCHMAN," 

One  volume,  cloth,  $1.25  ;   or  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  $l 


famous  WATCHMA.N  has  justified  us  in  publi  shing  «a 

»w» ,  ««  —  ~ -  - a  lar«rir  8a!e  tlmn  H>*t.  celebrated  book,  of  ™»«h  £— -j-jv 

•oni««  w.re  sold  m  the  country  alone.    It  is  a  tale  of  real  LiF*-ev~  .n«H.nt  hnvmir   come  under  UN  »»thc 
own  observation.    It  is  crowded  with  circumstances  ot  the  most  vi 


T«  nnbounded  popularity  of  tail  -real  author's  famous  WATCHMAN  has  justified  us  in  publi  shing  «a  ^••""J 
41Uon;  for  we  knowtLt  this  book  must  have  even  a  larger  sale  ^^ddHrkinifMM 

and   startling  interest 


•wly  supply  of  this  popular  work. 


"THE    WATCHMAN!'1 


AN  INTERESTING  AND  MORAL 

TALE  OF  DOMESTIC  LIFE. 
One  volume,  cloth,  $1.35  ;  or  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  $1.00. 

"And  let  ns  not  be  weary  in  well  doing,  •»  in  due  season  we  shall  reap  if  we  faint  not.** 

READ  THE  FOLLOWING  OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS: 

THE  WATCHMAN  ig  designed  to  subserve  a  good  purpose,  and  it  will,  doubtless,  effect  its  object.  Tfc« 
ihararterg  are  skillfully  drawn  and  are  remarkably  life-like,  and  the  plot  of  the  tale  is  of  the  meet  interesting 
inscription.  The  moral  it,  inculcates  is,  that  eventual  success  awaits  the  efforts  of  those  who  earnestly  strive  to  <i« 
(heir  duty  to  God  and  man.  This  book  will  be  a  fitting  companion  to  the  popular  story  of  "The  Lamplighter  "— 
tidvocalr,  York,Penn 

THE  WATCHMAN.— This  work  is  deservedly  popular.  The  reader  finds  in  their  pages  sympathies  of  the 
<k  ie»t  nature,  forming  flowers  for  his  path  through  fife's  weary  journey.  "  The  Watchman"  is  safely  eseosee* 
Hf«.:nst  any  attack  by  critics.  Its  pagoa  deal  in  truth.  It  pictures  life  as  it  is,  and  inculcates  useful  lessons.  The 
r-mng  man  whose  past  has  been  boisterous;  whose  present  is  full  of  chaos  and  crags,  and  whose  FUTUBK  appear* 
rtocmy  with  dark  forebodings,  may  learn  a  lesson  of  contentment  from  its  pages.— rAdvertiier,  Auburn  JV.  I 

THI  WATCHMAN.— This  book  is  of  a  kindred  character  with  ''The  Lamplighter  "— a  volume  which 
trfOtrti  seme  months  since  and  was  extensively  read  and  admired.  The  characters  are  all  well  drawn,  and  th« 
I  -jry  *s  chan ningly  tfild.  It  abounds  in  incident  and  adventure,  and  is  pervaded  by  a  healthy  moral  tone.  It 
SBQnot  fail  of  meeting  with  great  success  with  the  reading  public. — Troy  Budget. 


T.  B.  PETEESON,  Publisher,  No.  102  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia 


GREAT  INDUCEMENTS  FOR  1858! 


IS  THE  TIME  TO  GET  UP 


PETERSON  S  MAGAZINE 

THE  BEST  IN  THE  WORLD  FOll  LADIES! 
ESP  ONLY  TWO  DOLLARS  A  YEAR.  .Jgfl 

This  popular  monthly  Magazine  will  be  greatly  improved,  as  well  as  enlarged  for  ISAfi. 
It  will  contain  over  900  pages  yearly;  from  2o  to  30  Steel  Plates;  and  600  Wood  En- 
gravings. This  is  more,  proportionately,  than  any  periodical  gives.  The  Ntws- 
paper  Press  calls  this  Magazine  "THE  CHEAPEST  m  THE  WORLD." 

ITS    THRILLING   ORIGINAL    STORIES. 

The  editors  are  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens,  author  of  "The  Old  Homestead,"  "Fashion 
and  Famine,"  and  Charles  J.  Peterson,  author  of  "Kate  Aylesford,"  "The  Valley 
Farm,"  etc.,  etc.  ;  and  they  are  assisted  by  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth,  author  of  "  Tha 
Lost  Heiress,"  "Vivia,"  "Ketribution,"  etc.,  etc.  ;  by  Alice  Carey,  Mrs.  Deuison,  Miss 
Townsend,  Miss  Fail-field,  Carry  Stanley,  Clara  Moreton,  Hetty  Holyoke,  and  by  all  the 
most  popular  female  writers  of  America.  New  talent  is  continually  being  added,  r?y<ir<l- 
less  of  expense,  so  as  to  keep  "Peterson's  Magazine"  unapproachable  in  merit.  Mo- 
rality and  virtue  are  always  inculcated. 

ITS  SUPERB  MEZZOTINTS,  AND  OTHER  STEEL  ENGRAVINGS, 

Are  the  best  published  anywhere  ;  and  at  the  end  of  each  year  are  alone  worth  the 
subscription  price. 

COLORED  FASHION  PLATES  IN  ADVANCE, 

Each  number  contains  a  Fashion  Plate,  engraved  on  Steel,  and  colored  ;  also  a  dozen 
or  more  New  Styles,  engraved  on  Wood  ;  also,  a  Pattern,  from  which  a  Dress,  Mantilla, 
or  Child's  Costume,  can  be  cut,  without  the  aid  of  a  mantua-maker,  so  that  each 
Number,  in  this  way,  will  save  a  year's  subscription.  The  Paris,  London,  Philadel- 
phia, and  New  York  Fashions  are  described  at  length,  each  month.  Patterns  of  Caps, 
Bonnets,  Head-dresses,  etc.,  given  ;  in  short,  of  every  article  of  female  dress. 

Colored  fJqMns  foi*  Ctybftifat,  etc. 


Embroidery  Patterns  engraved  for  every  Number,  with  instructions  how  to  work 
them  ;  also,  Patterns  in  Knitting,  Inserting,  Broiderie  Anglaise,  Netting,  Frivolite,  Lace- 
making,  etc.,  etc.  Also,  Patterns  for  Sleeves,  Collars,  and  Chemisettes;  Patterns  In 
Bead-work,  Hair-work,  Shell-work;  Handkerchief  Corners ;  Names  for  Marking  and 
Initials.  Occasionally,  BCPKRB  COLORED  PATTERNS  FOR  EMBROIOKKY,  ETC.,  are  given, 
each  of  which,  at  a  retail  store,,  would  cost  Fifty  Cents.  A  piece  of  fashionable  Music  is 
published  every  month.  Also,  New  Receipts  for  Cooking,  the  Sick-room,  the  Toilet, 
Nursery,  etc.,  etc. ;  and  everything  required  in  the  Household. 

TERMS:— ^Lir^LYS    JUT 

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Five  Copies  for  One  Year,  -  7.50 


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PREMIUMS  FOR  MAKING  UP  CLUBS.— Three,  Five,  Eight,  Twelve, 
or  Sixteen  copies  make  a  Club.  To  every  person  getting  up  a  Club  of  Three,  and  remit- 
ting Five  Dollars  ;  or  a  Club  of  Five,  and  remitting  Seven  Dollars  and  a  Half;  or  a  Club 
of  Eight,  and  remitting  Ten  Dollars;  we  will  send,  gratis,  a  copy  of  our  "Casket  for 
1W58,"  a  book  of  costly  Engravings,  40  in  number.  To  every  person  getting  up  a  Club 
of  Twelve,  and  remitting  Fifteen  Dollars  ;  we  will  send  either  an  extra  copy  of  the  Ma- 
gazine for  1858,  or  a  "  Casket,"  as  the  remitter  may  prefer.  To  every  person  getting  up 
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an  extra  copy  for  18">S.  Or  to  any  person  getting  up  a  Club,  and  entitled  to  the  "  Casket," 
we  will  send,  if  preferred,  a  copy  of  the  Magazine  for  18.17. 

IKf  Any  person  may  get  up  a  Club.    Specimens  sent  gratuitously,  if  written  for, 

t  post-paid,  CHARLES  J.  PETERSON, 

TV**.    3Ofi    fJHTSSTlVUT    ST..    PHFLADELPHI A.. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


This  book  is  •** '  1  below,  or 

__  ^newed. 
Renewcu  oooks  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


j.       30Nov'55TW 

IN  STACKS 

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Berkeley  / 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


